“Maybe it doesn’t matter if they catch us,” Brianna said. “Firbolgs are a scrupulous people. Once they see that I’m carrying only one child, they’ll realize Galgadayle was wrong. They’ll never hurt-”
“It’s better not to take that chance, Majesty.” Avner glanced at the infant’s black hair. “They lost more than a dozen warriors against the fire giants. They won’t be in a reasonable mood.”
“What does their mood matter?” As Brianna spoke, the fibrous flesh of her womb rippled, then folded around the baby like a glove. “They’re looking for the ettin’s child. Once they see that I don’t have him, they’ll release Gerda.”
The queen’s voice sounded more desperate than certain, and Avner realized she was dangerously close to pinning her hopes of salvation on the very enemies who had driven her into this hole.
Brianna groaned, then braced her hands against the floor to push herself into a sitting position. “I need my midwife, Avner.”
“You can’t put your faith in the firbolgs,” he said. “Even if you show them what’s in your womb, they might kill it.”
Brianna scowled. “I don’t… understand,” she gasped. “What are you saying?”
Avner did not want to tell the queen about her child’s hair. She was already having a difficult time with labor, and any suggestion that the child wasn’t Tavis’s might dishearten her to the point of giving up.
“Firbolgs don’t trust anyone who can lie.” Avner was thinking fast. “They’ll think you’re trying to trick them.”
Brianna’s face fell. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a short cry. Avner glanced down at her belly and saw the infant’s head pressed hard against her pelvic bone. Her womb walls quivered with the effort of trying to force him through the pelvic cavity.
“I’m… too… weak.” Brianna clutched Avner’s arm, and seemed to be trying to pull herself into a kneeling position. “I can’t do this… not alone.”
“Majesty, you’re not alone.” Avner slipped his hand under her arm, then looked up. Thatcher was still staring at the wall. “Thatcher, help me with the queen. I think she wants to kneel.”
“Of course, with Her Majesty’s permission.” The front rider reluctantly turned to obey. “Please pardon my cold-in the name of Stronmaus!”
The man’s eyes had fallen on Brianna’s transparent womb and remained locked there. His jaw hung slack, and his brows were arched.
“What’s wrong?” Brianna slumped onto her back, sweat streaming from her brow as she struggled to peer down at her swollen belly. “What… is it?” she gasped. “Deform… ities? Is it a monster?”
“No, not at all,” Avner replied. He pushed the staring front rider toward the front of the mine, whispering, “Go back to the portal. Tell Gryffitt to keep me informed, and to keep an eye out for those scouting parties. They should be here by now.”
The front rider had barely left before the scout felt Brianna’s fingers digging into his arm.
“Avner, tell me!”
Before answering, the scout tried to free his arm, fearing Brianna would break it when she heard what he had to say. Like all Hartwicks, the strength of her giant ancestors still ran in the queen’s blood. Even in her weakened condition, her grip was powerful enough to crush bone.
The queen’s fingers only dug deeper into his flesh. “The baby’s in… trouble.”
Her eyes were once again glassy with pain, and they drifted away from his face. “It’s not… dead?”
Avner took Brianna by her shoulders. “From what I can see, your baby’s alive and healthy.”
This seemed to calm the queen. “It’s… it’s breech?”
Avner took a breath, then shook is head. “The child looks as if it might have been fathered by Stronmaus,” he said. “It’s large.”
“Large?”
“Maybe thirty pounds. It looks like a two-year-old,” Avner clarified. “It can’t fit through your pelvis.”
Brianna scowled. “That… just… can’t be,” she objected. “Gerda said… she said no bab-iiiaaaargh!”
The queen’s yell was so loud that Blizzard flinched and clattered a step back into the darkness. Brianna’s womb had closed around the infant like a fist. It was pushing the child against her pelvis so hard that the baby had nearly doubled in two. The young scout placed his hands on Brianna’s transparent belly, directly over the crumpled infant, and pushed against her womb.
Brianna howled more loudly and beat her hands against the floor. Blizzard came out of the shadows, nickering at Avner. He ignored the petulant mare and kept his eyes fixed on the queen’s anguished face.
“I’m sorry, Majesty,” he said. “Your own belly’s going to kill him. I don’t know what else to do.”
The queen’s fist came down again, and a small piece of granite broke in two.
“The firbolgs have found us for sure.” Gryffitt did not bother speaking quietly. “They’re bunching up!”
“How long before they get here?” Avner asked. He could not imagine moving the queen, but neither could he imagine letting the firbolgs catch her here. “Do we have time to finish the delivery?”
“We have a while,” Gryffitt replied. “Maybe ten minutes, fifteen if we go kill the one in front.”
“You stay here,” Avner ordered. “What about the canyon rim? Is there any sign of our patrol?”
It was a moment before Gryffitt replied. “I see something, just a few silhouettes.” He paused, then added, “But they’re too big to be humans, and they’re all-Stronmaus save us! I think they’re fomorians!”
“Look across the canyon,” added Thatcher. “Verbeegs!”
Avner felt his body go weak, and his muscles began to tremble. Fomorians and verbeegs were giant-kin, like firbolgs, and he knew it was no coincidence that they had appeared instead of the border scouts he was expecting. The entire giant-kin brood had united against the birth of Brianna’s child.
“Av… ner!”
Avner looked back to the queen, who had managed to prop herself on one elbow. Her other hand was rummaging for something inside the satchel where she kept her spell components.
“Yes, Majesty?”
“Do you… still have… Simon’s healing…”
The queen did not have to finish her question. Avner took one hand away from her belly and reached into his cloak. He withdrew the small purple flask and offered it to her.
Brianna shook her head. “Not yet.” She pulled her dagger from her satchel and turned the hilt toward Avner. “Baby might… need it.”
The young scout stared at the weapon, uncomprehending.
“You can see… the baby,” Brianna said. “It’s the only… way.”
Avner was too terrified to reply. He could only shake his head and stare at the knife’s gleaming blade.
“Take it!” Brianna thrust the weapon toward him, then collapsed onto her back. “Cut my child free… I command it!”
Since dawn has my eagle battled the cold boreal wind, that I might witness the debacle below. Through his eyes have I watched the Sons of Masud fall like trees to the axes of men, and through his nostrils have I smelled their acrid blood heavy in the air. I have heard dying fire giants call my name, adjuring me to guide their spirits safely to Surtr’s fiery palace, and I have seen their warm corpses sinking into the ice. I have tasted the sour sapor of defeat, and it has filled my throat with the burning bile of despair.
My plan, of course, was not perfect-I am no god-but it was sound. The fire giants were too slow to implement it; too slow, and too faint of heart.
Cowards? Perhaps. They faltered. They faltered, and so the firbolgs will carry the day.
I am watching them now, the firbolgs clambering toward Brianna’s dank hiding place. In grim silence they climb, thirty warriors no larger than bears, weary of gait and pale with their barbarous intent. Their compassion makes softlings of them all; worse, it makes them liars. What honest warrior would shirk at murder to save his people? Not I; I killed, and willingly.
My eagle beats its wings, rising high above their heads and flying straight on toward the tunnel where Brianna hides. By the flickering torchlight inside, I see the queen’s guards pinning her to the floor, one with a knife poised above her womb. Foolish woman. If she had come to me, I would have removed the infant with my magic. Now, she must trust the child’s life to an unwieldy dagger and a trembling boy.
My pet reaches the tunnel mouth and wheels along the mountainside. He dives deep into the canyon, down
