searching for handholds. Even then, he continued to cry out at random intervals, claiming that he smelled a foul odor or felt a gust of hot breath. Tavis never shared any of these sensations, nor did he hear the slightest clatter or flutter to suggest something was stalking them.
The high scout had finally decided his companion was imagining things when a sharp crack sounded above. A loud, clattering rumble reverberated down the chute, and the walls shuddered beneath the power of a tumbling boulder. Tavis pulled the dagger from his mouth and held it out over the trough, illuminating a pair of frost-rimed steps on the walls below.
“Jump!”
Knowing Orisino would leap for the closest step, the high scout jumped toward the one on the opposite wall. With the rumble reverberating ever louder in his ears, he dropped through eight feet of darkness and hit above the stair he wanted to reach. He turned his face toward the stone, scratching at the cold granite with his dagger and numb fingers.
A crack sounded from the center of the chute. The gray blur of a boulder bounced past his shoulder, with Orisino’s shrieking figure sliding down the trough close behind.
The stone vanished beneath the high scout’s face and chest, then he slammed onto the front half of the stair he had tried to reach. He flailed at the icy shelf with both hands.
A tremendous crash reverberated in the bottom of the chute.
Tavis’s glowing dagger caught in a crack and brought his fall to an abrupt halt. He glimpsed the blade bending under the sudden strain, then a sharp ping echoed through the cavern. Basil’s light rune abruptly faded, and the scout slipped.
Tavis released the hilt and grabbed for the broken blade. He felt a strange, painless sensation as the edge sliced into his numb palm, but he stopped sliding. He slipped the fingers of his free hand into the same crack where the blade had caught, then pulled himself onto the step.
A booming voice, deep but wavering with age, echoed down the chute. “You ’live, stupid thieves?”
Tavis did not respond, nor did Orisino-whether due to wisdom or injury, the high scout did not know.
“Answer Snad, stupid thieves!” quavered the giant. “You dead, or what?”
The dull-witted questions and low, booming voice left little doubt that Snad was a hill giant-but he was hardly an ordinary one. Though hill giants were clumsy and no more able to see in the dark than firbolgs, there had not been so much as a rustle or a glimmer of torchlight as this one slipped into place for his ambush.
“ ‘Kay, stupid thieves! Snad comin’ down,” the giant warned. “Better be dead when he gets there!”
Tavis cupped a hand to his ear and craned his neck to look up the chute. There was not the slightest rustle, nor the faintest gleam of light. For all the high scout could tell, Snad was a mere voice in the dark-a resentful voice.
Tavis crawled to the edge of his step, then lay on his belly and stretched his bleeding hand along the face of the dark granite. He barely managed to reach the center of the chute and slip three cold fingertips into the narrow crevice. The high scout pulled himself toward the opposite wall, at once swinging his legs off the stair and reaching for the fissure with his good hand.
The soles of his boots landed on the far side of the trough, slipped on the hoarfrost, and shot out from beneath him. Tavis started down the chute, then caught the crevice with his second hand and jammed a fist inside. The craggy stone scraped away long ribbons of skin, driving the numbness from his flesh, but the hand held. He brought himself to a halt.
Tavis resumed his descent, moving as quickly as he dared in the darkness. He had no idea whether Snad was descending the chute above or coming via another passage, but he suspected it would not be long before the hill giant arrived. Before then, the high scout wanted to have Orisino’s torch lit and be well down the trail.
A dozen steps later, the sole of Tavis’s boot came down on the jagged corner of a small boulder. He lowered himself onto the rock, then slipped down its side to something that felt like a jumbled platform of firewood. With a series of brittle cracks, his weight settled onto the sticks.
The sharp point of a sword poked Tavis in the short ribs. The scout leaned away from the tip and thrust a leg out, aiming a rear stomping kick just below the weapon. His boot sank into something soft. The breath left his attacker’s lungs with a muffled whumpf, then a ’kin-sized body slammed into a monolith and slumped to the floor. A series of receding clangs echoed through the cavern as the ambusher’s weapon skittered down an unseen slope.
Orisino simultaneously groaned and wheezed for breath. “Tavis… why’d… you do that?”
“Why did you stick a sword in my back?”
“I didn’t mean… any harm.” Aside from his lack of wind, Orisino sounded healthy enough. “I thought you were the giant.”
“He’ll be here soon enough,” Tavis replied. “Give me your torch.”
When Tavis reached down, the verbeeg grabbed the proffered hand and used it to pull himself up. “I don’t think a torch is smart. It’ll lead the giant straight to us.”
“He’ll find us anyway.” Tavis reached around the verbeeg and pulled the torch from his belt. “Until he does, we need to see where we’re going.”
Tavis removed his tinderbox from his satchel and knelt on the floor, spreading a mound of tinder before him. He found his flint and steel and fumbled with them until his numb fingers struck a fire. As the flames flickered to life, the high scout was surprised to see that the floor was covered not by sticks, but by a yellow tangle of bones.
“It appears we’re not Snad’s first victims,” Orisino said.
“We’re not victims yet.”
Tavis touched the torch to the tinder, which was already burning out, and blew gently on the flames until the oil-soaked head caught fire. The brand’s broader circle of light revealed thousands of bones. A few were fresh enough to have bits of withered hide clinging to their surfaces, but most were naked and almost petrified with age. A few were so gray and soft that they would powder at the slightest touch. They came in all sizes and shapes, from tibias no thicker than arrows to ribs as long as the floor planks of Keep Hartwick. Giants and ’kin were represented in equal proportions among the skulls scattered through the tangle, as were humans, elves, and other small races.
Tavis led them away from the bones, following the well-worn trail along a contorted route of corners and doglegs that took them ever downward. They heard no more of Snad until his splintered voice echoed through the stones above their heads.
“Snad the One! Not you, stupid thieves!” The giant’s voice sounded more imploring than angry. “Come back now, or Snad-”
The rest was too garbled to make out.
“The giant’s moving!” Orisino whispered.
“True, but at least he seems to be behind us.” Tavis passed the torch to Orisino, then pulled Mountain Crusher off his shoulder. “Assuming you’ll lead for a while, I’ll be ready when he catches up.”
Orisino looked dubious, but turned down the path. Tavis kept pace easily, even with his bow in hand, and stopped often to study the murky passages around them. Once a warm draft wafted out of a side passage. The high scout fired an arrow into the breeze on the off chance Snad had caused it; the shaft clattered against an unseen rock. Their pursuer remained a mere voice in the dark.
They continued to descend, slipping and sliding over the frosty stones, until at last they traversed the face of a long monolith and came to a fork in the trail. One route turned sharply to the right, while the other zigzagged down a small shaft. The ruts descending the shaft looked about twice as deep as those in the horizontal passage.
Orisino passed the torch to Tavis and sat on the edge of the pit. “I’m going to need both hands for this climb.” He glanced at the scout, then added, “That is, unless you’re so mad that you really are looking for a shortcut.”
When Tavis did not reply, a crafty smile crossed Orisino’s lips. “I thought as much.”
The chieftain climbed down to the limit of the torchlight, where he sat upon a huge, well-worn step to wait for Tavis. The high scout dropped the brand to the verbeeg, then slipped his bow over his shoulder and climbed down to the same place. They had to repeat the process only twice more before Orisino reached the bottom of the shaft.
“I think we’re almost there.” The verbeeg turned to peer down a dark, diamond-shaped passage. “The floor in
