axe and spun to face the noise.
Tavis dropped his end of the litter and held a hand out to Brianna. He heard another clatter up the tunnel, and then a loud thump.
“Your Majesty, my bow-please!”
Brianna pulled away, still oblivious to what was happening behind her. “Stay back, traitor!”
Gryffitt’s distant figure hefted his axe and stepped forward. A sharp twang echoed off the tunnel walls. The front rider dropped his axe and Brianna’s glowing dagger, then pitched over backward. He landed flat on his back, a huge crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.
A slender, gray-haired verbeeg stepped into the light of Brianna’s dagger. In his hands, he held a large crossbow with an iron quarrel nocked in the groove. The tip was pointed straight at Brianna.
Tavis reached for his bow, but stopped when the newcomer raised the crossbow menacingly.
“Don’t be foolish. These bolts are poisoned.” The verbeeg backed away from the glowing dagger, once more cloaking himself in darkness. “We would prefer to keep the queen alive, but we will forego the ransom if we must. Now drop your weapons.”
“What do we have here, Tavis?” Brianna asked. She glared up the tunnel and refused to set Mountain Crusher aside. “More of your allies?”
“Of course not, milady.” The high scout slowly unbuckled his scabbard belt and motioned for the front riders to do the same. “But I would advise you-”
The verbeeg suddenly gave a strangled, gurgling cry. His crossbow clattered to the tunnel floor, releasing its bolt to ricochet harmlessly off a sooty wall. The verbeeg himself appeared an instant later, falling face-first into the light of the glowing dagger. There was blood cascading down his chest and a scrawny human form clinging to his back.
“Avner?” Tavis gasped.
The young scout leapt off the verbeeg’s back and grabbed Brianna’s glowing dagger, then started down the passage.
“Nothing to worry about,” he called. “There were only two.”
“Avner, I’m so happy to see you!” Brianna walked forward and pushed Mountain Crusher into the youth’s hands. “Keep a close eye on Tavis. He seems to be acting like just another firbolg.”
8
With five armored escorts following close behind, Tavis clambered up the stair turret and stepped onto the roof of Wynn Castle’s arsenal tower. At the parapets across the way stood Basil of Lyndusfarne, Royal Librarian and Runecaster to Her Majesty the Queen. The ancient verbeeg held his spindly hands clasped behind his back and wore a cloak of matted wolf-fur over his stooped shoulders. The tips of his big ears were crimson with cold, and his white hair was so thin that it barely concealed his gray, scaly scalp. He seemed as oblivious to the high scout’s arrival as he did to the muttered conversation of his own guards.
Tavis stopped at the verbeeg’s side, but said nothing. Basil’s milky blue eyes were focused far across the snowy plain, where the sun had kindled a twilight blaze in the clouds behind the glacier-clad peaks of the Ice Spires South. The runecaster looked almost blissful. His bushy eyebrows were arched in nearly sacred awe and his thick lips upturned in rapturous joy, but his expression did not conceal entirely the toll taken on him by the last three years. The circles under his eyes were as deep and black as canyons, and his cheeks were sunken with fatigue.
“Hello, Basil,” Tavis said. “You’re the last person I expected to find at Wynn Castle.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” Basil did not take his eyes off the clouds.
Tavis felt sure his friend meant the sunset, not the hundreds of giant-kin scattered across the shadow- streaked snows outside. The first party of firbolgs had arrived at the castle that morning, less than two hours after the queen’s battered entourage. Since then, a constant stream of ’kin had been pouring from the Gorge of the Silver Wyrm. They were already building a siege tower and ram shed so they could storm the walls, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Their leaders were no fools; no doubt, they realized that Brianna had immediately sent for reinforcements. If they did not capture the queen before her reserves arrived, they never would.
The giant-kin had a difficult task ahead of them. Wynn Castle guarded the southern passes through which Hartsvale traded with the outside world, and only Castle Hartwick, the queen’s permanent residence, was stronger. More than once, Wynn Castle had withstood barrages of flame and stone cast by whole companies of fire giants. If the citadel had held against those assaults, it would likely survive anything hurled at it by the giant-kin.
Basil continued to stare at the sunset, completely lost in its beauty. The absentminded verbeeg often seemed to forget his surroundings-he sometimes went days without remembering to eat-but seldom was he absorbed by something so mundane as twilight.
“You didn’t come all this way to watch the sun go down,” Tavis said.
The high scout took Basil’s elbow and gently turned him around. The verbeeg’s gaze remained fixed on the blazing clouds, his body swiveling beneath his head until his neck could crane no farther. As his eyes were torn from the mesmerizing sight, the bliss drained from his face like water.
“What are you doing here?” Tavis asked. In case Basil had forgotten where ‘here’ was, he added, “Why did you come to Wynn Castle?”
Basil shrugged. “I’ve never seen this castle. Now seemed as good a time as any.”
“You haven’t set foot outside Castle Hartwick in three years,” Tavis countered. “In fact, you’ve barely left the Royal Library.”
The verbeeg knitted his gray brows and tugged at his wispy beard. Then his eyes glimmered. “I have news for you! And for Brianna, too, when you can arrange an audience.” Basil glanced toward the center of the castle, where the four ice-draped towers of Wynn Keep loomed above the inner curtain. “The guards seem to have forgotten who I am. I can’t get past the keep gate.”
“You’re doing better than I am,” Tavis replied. “They won’t even let me into the ward.”
“But you’re her husband!” Basil winced as soon as he spoke, then looked down at Tavis with an apologetic expression. “Aren’t you?”
The high scout spread his hands. “Who knows?” he asked. “I was yesterday.”
Basil’s face fell, and he looked away shaking his head. “This is terrible,” he said. “It could make things difficult.”
“You think it hasn’t already?” Tavis growled.
Basil did not seem to notice the scout’s foul humor. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think I did something?” Tavis snapped. “I didn’t do anything-except save her from the fire giants and the giant-kin and guide her out of Earl Wynn’s mines.”
“ Something must have happened,” Basil pressed. “And I must say, it couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left Castle Hartwick.”
Tavis nodded, then glanced around the ramparts. Counting his five armored escorts and the guards watching over Basil, there were nearly a dozen men on the roof of the small tower.
“You men go down inside and warm up,” he suggested. “I think we’re safe enough here.”
Tavis’s escorts and Basil’s guards exchanged nervous glances. Neither group made any move to leave.
“What’s wrong?” Tavis demanded. “Do as I say.”
“I’m sorry, milord,” said the sergeant. “But the queen gave orders. We’re to keep a watch on all the ’kin in the castle-especially you.”
Tavis’s stomach balled into an aching knot. He found himself stepping toward the sergeant, and he saw his own hands rising to shove the man into the stair turret. The soldier and his fellows all went pale, but they stood their ground and reached for their swords.
Basil’s long fingers dug into Tavis’s shoulder. “There’s no need for violence,” said the runecaster. “I can arrange our privacy, if that’s what you want.”
