The Giant Among Us

12

With clenched jaw and sweating palms, Tavis watched the sentry herd Avner through the crowded ice cavern. The trip was a slow one, for every frost giant in the chamber insisted on inspecting the prisoner dubbed “Little Dragon.” Many even dropped to their hands and knees for a closer look, blocking the youth’s path until his puzzled escort shoved them away. Slagfid followed close behind the guard, trying not to look surprised by the boy’s unexpected arrival.

To Tavis, the wait seemed forever. A dozen different questions were pounding inside his head, most notably how he was going to get Avner out of the cave before Hagamil returned. The scout was also curious about where the boy had come by the bearskin parka he now wore, and what had happened to Bear Driller. Neither the boy nor his guard were carrying the firbolg’s bow or quiver.

But, more than any other answer, the scout wanted to know how Halflook had discerned that the sentry had captured the boy. Did the shaman’s mystical sight also allow him to see through Tavis’s disguise? That would certainly explain why the giant had insisted that his guest stay until the “surprise” arrived.

At last, the sentry pushed his way past the last curious frost giant and stopped in front of Halflook. Standing between the two giants, Avner seemed incredibly small. The thought of him holding Slagfid’s war party at bay seemed as absurd as a mad squirrel holding a bridge against fifteen armored knights.

“Halflook, call Hagamil,” ordered the sentry. “Tell him I caught this traell trying to sneak into camp.”

“Hagamil’s sleeping,” the shaman replied. “He already knows about this captive-though he’s under the impression that Slagfid bears the honor for capturing him.” Halflook’s red-veined eye shifted to Slagfid’s face.

“That’s a lie!” The sentry scowled at Slagfid. “You can see for yourself I’m the one who gots him!”

“But Slagfid had him first,” Tavis pointed out, taking a lesson from Avner. If he could start a fight between the two giants, he stood a reasonable chance of snatching the boy and escaping during the confusion. “By rights, the honor belongs to Slagfid.”

“That is not for you to decide, Sharpnose!” Halflook’s voice had turned deep and gravelly. “You are no chief.”

Tavis turned and saw the shaman’s single eyeball rolling back in its socket. Hagamil was returning much earlier than expected.

“Halflook!” the scout shouted. “Our business is not done!”

“Go with Slagfid.” The voice was Halflook’s, but it sounded rather strained. “He’ll show you to one of Bodvar’s mammoths.”

“I no longer wish a mammoth,” Tavis said. “I’ll trade the beast for this little traell.” He gestured at Avner.

A chorus of thunderous laughter echoed off the cavern walls.

“Do not insult us, Sharpnose,” warned Slagfid. He glanced into the pit, where the remorhaz was devouring the last of the ogre. “Watching Little Dragon fight the worm is worth at least ten mammoths.”

“Is it worth-”

“It doesn’t matter what you pay!” To Tavis’s astonishment, the speaker was Avner. “I’d rather stay and fight than become a stone giant’s slave!”

Tavis scowled down at the youth. Avner couldn’t have forgotten his true identity!

“Even if they gave me to you, I wouldn’t go.” The boy pointed to the exit. “So you might as well leave, Gavorial.”

The scout raised his brow. Avner was trying to tell him something, probably that he had hidden Bear Driller someplace nearby. Unfortunately, Tavis did not see how that helped matters.

Still peering down at Avner, the scout said, “At the moment, what you want is not important. I have better uses for you than feeding ice worms.”

“But the traell is not your catch,” growled Hagamil’s voice.

A mass of yellow hair was sprouting on the shaman’s head, but the giant still had only a single, red-veined eye. The orb was fluttering up and down in its socket, as though Halflook were fighting to retain control of the body.

“Leave!” the shaman urged. “I doubt Hagamil will honor my promise.”

“You heard him!” Avner called. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner you’re gone, the better!”

Tavis shrugged. “It seems I have no choice.” He looked down at Avner, hoping to give the youth one last warning. “But I think you’ll be surprised at how difficult it is to kill a remorhaz. I’m sure you’ll wish you were going home with me instead of dancing across its back with a burning spear in your hand.”

An expression of bewilderment flashed across Avner’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a disdainful sneer. “The only place I’d rather be is with Tavis.” The youth cast a nervous glance toward the pit, then added, “And I’ll be joining him soon enough.”

Slagfid grabbed Tavis by the wrist “Let’s go,” the frost giant urged. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”

The scout limped after his escort. The effects of Bodvar’s ice diamond were wearing off, and his injured toe was starting to pain him.

Outside, a stiff wind had risen. It was whistling through the gaps between the nunataks, carrying with it a scouring stream of ice pellets. A ferocious-looking bank of storm clouds was rolling over the caldera’s northern rim, its leading edge gleaming silver in the moonlight It seemed to Tavis that he could actually feel the temperature dropping.

“It appears there’s quite a storm coming our way,” the scout commented.

Slagfid paused long enough to turn his face into the pelting ice crystals. “Yes, it promises to be a glorious blizzard!” he shouted. “Thrym favors us!”

The frost giant smiled broadly, then led the way to the water hole that the mammoths had gouged in the frozen lake. Although Tavis could hear the ice groaning beneath the beasts’ immense weight, Slagfid did not show the slightest hesitation as he walked out to them. The scout decided to wait on shore, suspecting that if the ice broke, the cold would affect him far more than the frost giant.

Slagfid waded into the herd, looking remarkably similar to a human shepherd pushing his way through a flock of goats. The frost giant stooped over and began grabbing ears. He tipped each beast’s head back so that he could inspect the left tusk, no doubt looking for an ownership mark etched into the ivory. The mammoths trumpeted their protest and occasionally tried to push him away, but the creatures were no match for the giant’s strength. He simply stood his ground and grabbed each animal’s trunk, pinching it shut until the beast stopped struggling.

The frost giant had sorted through about half the herd when the creatures began flapping their ears and changing positions, aligning themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with their heads pointed into the wind. They raised their trunks and let out an intimidating wail, slashing their long tusks through the air and pawing at the ice.

The vibrations caused a large slab of ice to break free, dropping three mammoths and Slagfid into the frigid lake. The plunge didn’t bother any of them. The beasts simply wrapped their trunks around the legs of the closest herd members, then hoisted themselves up with one or two clumsy leaps. No water dripped out of their matted fur, for it had turned to ice the instant the animals had left the lake. Slagfid followed the mammoths’ example, save that he used his hands instead of a prehensile trunk.

The frost giant peered in the same direction as the mammoths. “What’s wrong over there?” he demanded, knocking ice chunks off his body. “Do you see anything?”

Tavis glanced in the direction the giant indicated. “Yes: snow, ice, and shadows.”

The scout did not add that one of the shadows looked to be about the size of a traell. The fellow was lying behind a jagged ridge of ice, with a long bow that could only be Bear Driller on the ground in front of him. Apparently, Avner had recruited some help at the bottom of the glacier. That was why he had been so confident.

Slagfid peered at the shore a moment longer, then shrugged. “Probably bears. Little vermin like that scares mammoths as bad as dragons.” He turned to face the herd again, then shook his head and swore, “By the Endless Ice Sea! Now I’ve got to start over!”

Avner dangled upside down at the end of a greasy rope. A pair of rusty shackles bound his ankles, and in his hands he clutched a blade-tipped spear. The remorhaz danced on the ice almost thirty feet below.

At the top end of Avner’s rope, Hagamil and Halflook were carrying on a bizarre quarrel. The argument would have been comical had the youth’s life not depended on the outcome.

“The body belongs to me until morning!” said Halflook. “If you want to set Little Dragon against the worm, you can wait.”

“By morning, we’ll be on our way.” Hagamil’s gravelly voice rasped from the same mouth out of which Halflook’s had just come. “It’s a long way to Split Mountain.”

“Split Mountain?” snarled Halflook. “We should have left yesterday!”

As the pair argued, Avner slipped his spear between his knees. He took his lockpicking tools out of his belt pouch, then laboriously raised his body up until he could grab his shackle chains. Once the giants dropped him, he would need his mobility-at least if he intended to survive until Tavis returned.

“Hey, what’s Little Dragon doing?” called one of the frost giant spectators. “Is he tryin’ to cheat?”

“Yeah! Ain’t he smart?” answered another. “Just like Slagfid said!”

Hagamil and Halflook glanced briefly at their captive, but made no move to prevent him from unlocking his shackles. Apparently, it was okay to cheat at frost giant games. Under different circumstances, Avner might have enjoyed the company of his captors.

“I would’ve left the day before yesterday,” Hagamil said, continuing the argument. When he spoke, his second eye hung half-descended into the socket. “But we had to wait ’til Slagfid killed Tavis Burdun. So now we’ve gotta do this thing with Little Dragon tonight.”

The first shackle came loose with a pop. Avner twined his arm around the rope, then slipped the pick into the second lock.

“Fine,” Halflook said. “Then I get to watch the match.”

Avner twisted the pick, and the lock popped open. His feet swung free, leaving the shackles in place and him dangling above the remorhaz by a single arm.

“Hey, Little Dragon done it!” called one of the spectators. “He got loose!”

Avner slipped his lockpick back into his belt pouch, then grabbed the spear from between his knees.

Halflook peered down and frowned, then Hagamil’s voice declared, “We’re doing it now!”

The giant-which one, Avner was not quite sure-let the rope slip between his fingers, lowering the youth into the pit like a spider on a thread. The remorhaz reared its chitinous head, ready to strike the instant its prey came into range.

Avner tucked his spear beneath his arm, then began whipping his legs to and fro until he was swinging like a pendulum. The ice worm rocked back and forth in time with the motion. A growing murmur buzzed through the cold chamber as the giants debated the purpose and effectiveness of little Dragon’s maneuver.

When his captor had lowered him to within a spear’s length of the remorhaz, the youth released the rope at the far end of his arc. His momentum catapulted him far past the ice worm’s tail. He hit the ice close to twenty paces away from the beast, then lost his footing and skidded across the floor. He did not stop sliding until he bounced off a wall.

Much to the giants’ delight, the youth instantly leaped to his feet and came up facing the remorhaz. His shackles clanged to the floor on the opposite side of the pit. The ice worm, which had been turning toward the youth, whirled around and scurried toward the noise, hissing and sputtering.

Avner gripped his spear and crept after the beast in silence, hoping to sneak up on the blind spot behind the creature’s head. The youth kept a careful watch on the ice worm’s legs, alert for any movement that suggested it was whirling toward him. Despite their sticklike appearance, the remorhaz’s legs were surprisingly large, with bulbous joints as big around as a human knee.

The ice worm stopped beside the shackles and ran a face tentacle over the cold steel. Avner was puzzled to see little wisps of vapor rising from the ice beneath the metal. He did not understand what was causing the steam, but it seemed clear enough that he would be wise to avoid the tentacles.

After a time, the remorhaz tossed the irons aside with a contemptuous flick of its head, apparently satisfied that the lifeless steel would cause it no harm. The beast carefully turned around, searching for its prey.

Avner slipped to the side, taking care to stay in the worm’s blind spot, and deftly glided toward the shackles. The maneuver elicited a round of thunderous chuckles from the giants above.

When the ice worm did not find its quarry in the expected place, it vented a gurgling roar and spun around in a whirling blue flash. Avner thrust the tip of his spear into the floor and pushed off, launching himself toward the shackles in a crazy, slip-sliding sprint. The remorhaz hissed in glee and came scratching after him, its many claws gouging long furrows in the ice.

Avner snatched the irons on the move. Allowing himself to glide across the bumpy floor for a moment, he turned and hurled his spear at the remorhaz. The ice worm ducked, though it hardly needed to, and the shaft sailed harmlessly past its head. The youth resumed his sprint, his fingers tearing madly at the rope attached to the heavy chain. He managed to undo the knot quickly, for it had been tied by giant fingers and was quite loose. Behind him he heard the remorhaz’s claws warily clattering on the ice.

“Hey, what are you afraid of!” Avner called. He reached the wall and stopped, then turned around to see the ice worm slowly stalking toward him. He beat the shackles against the ice, yelling, “Come and get me. Hear that dinner bell?”

The remorhaz charged. Avner waited until the worm was moving so fast that it could not possibly stop, then pushed off the wall and ran straight toward the beast. The remorhaz raised its head to strike. The youth dropped to his hip and hit the ice sliding, whirling the shackles like a morningstar. He passed beneath the beast’s belly before it could attack, whipping the irons into the creature’s legs. He heard the satisfying crunch of crackling chitin and felt two limbs fracture.

The remorhaz roared and sprang sideways, trying to leap away from its tormentor. Avner grabbed one of its bulbous knees and held tight, and when the beast landed, the youth was still beneath it. He slipped one of the open shackles around the worm’s leg, closing the cuff above the creature’s round ankle.

The remorhaz thrust its head under its belly, jaws snapping and face tendrils flaying. The youth managed to whirl away from the beast’s needle-toothed maw, but its tentacles thrashed him several times. Scorching pains shot through his face and arms, and red welts rose wherever the tendrils touched. Avner continued to roll, jerking the worm’s shackled leg after him.

The remorhaz roared in pain and dropped to its side, slashing Avner with the legs along its other flank. The youth turned his head away from the slicing claws and blindly thrust an arm out, clamping onto one of the flailing legs. He tugged the limb toward him and clasped the second shackle above the ankle.

When the youth heard the lock click shut, he slipped between two slashing legs and scrambled away, leaving a trail of blood on the ice. He snatched up his spear and retreated to the nearest corner. Only then did he turn to inspect his work.

The remorhaz had righted itself, but the beast was far from the agile terror it had been earlier. On one side of its body, two of the legs Avner had hit with the irons hung limp and useless, so that the beast was creeping toward him with a severe list More importantly, the two shackled legs bent inward at awkward angles, further reducing the worm’s mobility.

The youth did not make the mistake of thinking he had won the battle. With its serpentine neck and darting head, the remorhaz could still snatch Avner off the ice in the blink of an eye. And he was not foolish enough to believe that he had the strength to drive his little spear through the beast’s hard carapace.

As the creature hobbled toward him, Avner used the tip of his spear to chip a small hollow in the ice. During the few moments it took him to complete the task, he dripped enough blood on the floor to stain the whole area red. When he finished, he braced the butt of his weapon in the cup he had created and angled the tip toward the approaching remorhaz.

“Maybe this will hold you off,” he whispered, “at least until Tavis gets back.”

After several minutes of searching, Slagfid finally grabbed one of the beasts by the ear and started toward the shore. The rest of the herd seemed to forget about the danger they had sensed earlier and followed close behind, an eerie, mournful wail pouring from their upraised trunks.

Tavis pointed at the herd and asked, “What’s all this?”

“Good-byes,” the frost giant explained. “They think he’s being led to butcher.”

Tavis winced. “You slaughter their kin in front of them?”

Slagfid shook his head. “Of course not. But they see our clothes and smell the cook fires.” The frost giant led the mammoth over to Tavis. “Doesn’t take ’em long to figure it out.”

“And they don’t try to flee?”

“Some do.” A cruel smile crossed Slagfid’s mouth. “But when we catch ’em, that’s when the herd sees a slaughter. We butcher the one that ran and its mother, calf, and siblings. After that, we usually don’t lose another one for twenty years.”

“Mammoths must be intelligent.”

“Smarter than hill giants, anyway,” Slagfid allowed. “And they remember faces a lot longer.”

The frost giant pulled on the mammoth’s ear, forcing it to present its flank to Tavis. The creature’s back came up only to the waist of Gavorial’s body, with a thick covering of coarse fur that would offer at least minimal padding.

The frost giant pressed the tip of his boot into the back of the beast’s knee. “Down, Graytusk.” Once the mammoth had kneeled before Tavis, Slagfid said, “Just climb on and grab an ear. He’ll turn the way you pull, and tug ’em both when you want to stop.”

Tavis swung a leg over Graytusk’s back. The sensation reminded the firbolg of the few times he had climbed onto a horse’s back. It felt like he should be carrying his mount, not the other way around.

“How do I make him go?”

“When I take my foot off his leg, he’ll stand up and start moving,” Slagfid explained. He grinned shrewdly, then added, “At least for a little while.”

Tavis scowled. “What do you mean?”

The frost giant chuckled. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “But you tried to get me the honor for catching little Dragon, so I figure I owe you something.”

“What?”

“Mammoths aren’t strong enough to haul grownups-it’s all they can do to carry a young giant,” Slagfid explained. “You’ll ride this fellow to death before you’re off the glacier.”

With that, the frost giant took his foot off Graytusk’s knee and stepped away. The mammoth pushed himself up, spewing a long snort from his hairy trunk and rocking so violently that Tavis nearly fell off. The beast instantly ambled forward with a lurching, uneven gait. The scout yanked on both ears, bringing the beast to a swift halt, and leaned over to speak with Slagfid.

“That’s why Hagamil kept the shaman’s promise!”

Slagfid nodded. “And that’s why Halflook made it in the first place,” the giant chortled. “You really don’t think the frost giants are going to share…”

Slagfid’s jaw fell open and he let his sentence trail off. He pinched his eyes closed, then opened them again and stared at Tavis with a bewildered expression. “Sharpnose, what’s happening to you?”

A cold numbness fell over the scout’s face, and his skin suddenly seemed as stiff and rigid as steel. His facial muscles began to twitch and snap. A loud, metallic ping echoed through his nasal cavities, then Basil’s runemask popped off and struck Slagfid squarely on the forehead. Tavis’s face erupted into searing pain. The bones of his jaw began to shrink, causing his teeth to grind against each other like stones. His entire head throbbed in agony.

“You’re not Sharpnose!” Slagfid gasped.

Tavis raised his foot and drove the heel into the frost giant’s midsection, then grabbed Graytusk’s ear and jerked the mammoth around. The beast broke into a shaky, bone-jarring trot. The scout’s throat started to shrink and he found himself choking on his own Adam’s apple, which was reducing its size only half as fast as the air passage around it. He guided his mount toward the place he had last seen the traell’s shadow, praying the fellow had not moved.

Slagfid’s voice commanded, “Graytusk, stand!”

The mammoth halted instantly. Tavis pitched forward, and only his secure grip on the beast’s ears prevented him from flying off. He craned his neck around to see Slagfid’s looming face just a few paces behind him. A distant ringing echoed in the scout’s ears, and black wisps of fog formed at the edges of his vision. He felt Graytusk’s back broadening beneath his legs, and he realized he was shrinking fast.

“You’re no stone giant,” Slagfid growled. “You’re just a scrawny little firbolg!”

The frost giant lowered a hand to pluck Tavis off the mammoth’s back. The scout pushed himself out of the way, then slid down Graytusk’s flank and dropped onto the snow. He crawled under the beast’s belly and scrambled to his feet on the other side, dizzy and still choking.

Slagfid shoved the mammoth out of his way. “You’re Tavis Burdun!”

Tavis stumbled forward. The black fog closed in, reducing his vision to a narrow tunnel. He tried to cry out for his bow, but could not choke the words out of his constricted throat. The ice trembled and crunched as Slagfid kneeled behind him.

“Catching you alive will bring me more honor than Hagamil!”

Tavis felt the giant’s fingers close around him, and his vision went dark. A scream of fury erupted deep inside the firbolg. It rose as high as the choking lump in his throat and remained there, simmering. The scout grabbed one of Slagfid’s fingers and pushed against the joint, determined to break the digit before he fell unconscious.

Tavis never had the chance. An arrow sizzled past several feet over his head, then sank into Slagfid’s eye with a mucky hiss. A pained bellow boomed over the ice, and the giant’s hand opened, spilling Tavis onto the ground.

Somewhere ahead, an old man’s voice yelled, “Basiliz wives!”

Tavis staggered toward the voice as fast as his growing dizziness allowed. Behind him, Slagfid scrambled to his feet, roaring, and stomped off toward the cavern.

“Basiliz wives!” the voice repeated, this time more urgently.

It occurred to the scout that his savior was attempting to activate one of Basil’s runearrows, but the fellow had such a traell accent that his words were hardly comprehensible. Tavis tried to give the command, but still could not speak. He dropped to his knees. He heard several humans rush up to him, then felt their hands grasping his arms.

“What wrong, Dafis?” asked an old man’s voice. “Hurt bad?”

The scout shook his head. He could still hear Slagfid’s steps pounding toward the ice cavern, but the giant’s bellows had changed to an alarm cry. Tavis could do nothing to silence him, at least not until he changed back to a firbolg. The few moments the transformation required seemed to pass at an interminable pace. Once the frost giant alerted his fellows to the presence of Tavis Burdun, the traells would not have much time to escape-and the scout would have even less time to rescue Avner.

When the scout’s throat finally cleared and his vision returned to normal, he saw that his rescuers were the same dark-haired traells that had lured Bodvar into the ambush. Neither the young girl nor the man Tavis had inadvertently wounded were present, but he recognized the child’s features in the face of the old man and one other warrior.

The scout quickly turned toward the ice cavern and saw that Slagfid had already disappeared inside. Tavis did not speak the runearrow’s command word. Even if his voice would carry that far, it was already too late to stop the giant from sounding the alarm. It would be far wiser to reserve the magic until later, when he could see what results the explosion might bring.

“Here, Dafis.” The old man thrust the scout’s quiver and bow into his hands. “My name Olchak. Afner say give these to you.”

“Thank you,” the scout replied. “I’m grateful for your help against the giant.”

“Frost giants!” Olchak spat into the snow. “Dey should stay in Ice Plains, where dey belong!”

“Perhaps we can send them back,” Tavis said, looking toward the ice cave. “Will you help me, Olchak?”

“Dat why we came,” the old man replied. “What you want?”

Tavis checked the supply of arrows remaining in his quiver-three runearrows, several dozen normal arrows, and, of course, the golden shaft reserved for Brianna. He started toward Graytusk, speaking as he moved.

“See if you can find some frost giant rope.” The scout was still limping, for the transformation had done nothing to mend his wounded toe. “And if you can, take it to the cave entrance. Here’s what I want you to do.”

The remorhaz struck at Avner yet again. The youth angled his spear toward the worm’s descending head. As it had many times before, the beast stopped short of impaling itself. But this time, it twined a face tentacle around the shaft and yanked.

Avner held firm, rising off the ice as the beast tried to jerk the spear from his hands. The youth circled the end of his weapon over the tentacle, then flicked the tip down. The steel head severed the tendril. The worm bellowed in pain and, madly shaking its head, retreated.

The frost giants roared their approval.

Avner flicked the tendril away and started forward to press his advantage. Then he remembered Tavis’s ambiguous warning about the beast’s back and decided to wait. The youth retreated to his bloody corner and braced the butt of his weapon in its cup.

A disappointed murmur rustled through the cavern. Avner did not care. He was fighting for his life, not the amusement of the frost giants.

The remorhaz flapped its head, spraying droplets of sizzling blood across the ice. The beast cautiously advanced again. It had just closed to striking range when Slagfid’s voice rumbled over the pit like thunder.

“Help!” His voice was so pained that it was barely intelligible. “My eye!”

The crowd on the pit rim slowly parted, then Slagfid’s head came into view. The giant held one hand cupped over his eye, with the dark fletching of one of Tavis’s runearrows protruding between his fingers. A stream of blood was flowing down his cheek and pouring off his jaw in a bright red cascade.

“What happened?” demanded Hagamil.

Slagfid’s only reply was an incoherent wail.

Avner did not have time to watch what happened next, for the remorhaz was approaching again. This time, the worm scuttled toward him sideways. It held its head low to the ground, while, twenty feet away, its tail twitched high the air.

The youth saw at once that the beast had at last hit upon a strategy to defeat him. If he lowered the spear to defend against the head, the remorhaz would lash out with its tail and batter him senseless in a single blow. If he kept his weapon high, the worm would grab him by the ankles.

There was only one thing left to do.

Avner hurled his spear at the remorhaz’s eye. The worm jerked its mouth up and snatched the weapon out of the air. The beast snapped the shaft in two with a single chomp, but the maneuver bought the youth enough time to dart out of the corner.

The creature whirled around and hobbled after him, still crippled by its shackles and broken legs. The youth stopped in the center of the pit, where he would have plenty of room to keep dodging. Eventually, he knew, the remorhaz would wear him down, but his deftness was the only weapon Avner had left.

The second time Tavis stepped through the cavern mouth, the ice cave felt immeasurably vast. The icicles that had appeared to hang so low to a stone giant now looked as high as stars, and the far wall seemed a distant blue horizon.

The air reverberated with the booming voices of astonished giants, dozens at once yelling at Slagfid, calling him a fool and shouting questions. The warrior was in too much pain to provide the explanations they demanded. He seemed unable to do anything except bellow in agony and keep his hands clutched over his eye. As a result, the entire tribe’s attention remained fixed on him.

Keeping a careful eye on the throng, Tavis sneaked through the cave’s mouth and angled toward the log ladder lying near the pit. As the scout moved, he felt the cold hand of panic beginning to squeeze his heart. The clamor in the cavern prevented him from hearing anything in the pit, but he found it ominous that the spectators had lost interest in the remorhaz.

Tavis had nearly reached the log when Hagamil’s voice blustered above the rest. “Quiet!”

The cavern instantly fell so silent that Tavis could hear the soft clatter of the remorhaz’s many legs in the pit below. The worm sounded slow and languid, and the scout could also detect the sporadic clanking of a chain, as though the beast were dragging shackles across the ice. In his mind, the scout envisioned the creature hauling Avner’s limp body into a corner.

On the far side of the pit, Hagamil grasped Slagfid by the shoulders. “Be quiet, you!” he yelled. “Tell me what happened, then I’ll fetch Halflook to take care of your eye.”

This offer seemed to help Slagfid get a hold on himself. The frost giant quieted, then gasped, “Tavis Burdun shot me!”

“That can’t be!” Hagamil roared, shaking the injured warrior. “Sharpnose said he killed Tavis Burdun!”

Tavis reached the ladder and crouched down at the end. He braced his shoulder against the log, ready to push it forward the instant the giants made enough noise to cover the sound.

“That wasn’t Sharpnose here,” Slagfid tried to explain. “It was Tavis Burdun, pretending to be Sharpnose.”

This drew an incredulous murmur from the giants.

Hagamil promptly silenced them with a single, roving glare. “How could a little firbolg pretend to be a stone giant?”

Slagfid did not answer immediately, and the clattering of remorhaz legs fell silent. The scout’s heart felt as if it would burst.

After a moment, Slagfid said, “He was wearing a mask.”

A chorus of thunderous laughter shook the cavern. Tavis shoved the log forward until the end hung over the edge. The far side of the pit floor came into view, where a spear lay broken and discarded. A trail of blood ran from one corner toward the center of the arena, and that was all the scout could see. The hand around his heart clamped tighter, filling his entire being with a sick, cold ache.

Tavis couldn’t leave, not until he saw the body. With the thunderous guffaws of the giants still shaking the cavern, he lay beside the log and crept forward, pulling Bear Driller along with him.

“Quiet!” Hagamil thundered. The laughter died away, and the chieftain asked, “A mask, Slagfid?”

“It was silver,” the warrior said meekly. “It fell off Sharpnose’s face, and then he changed into Tavis Burdun.”

“And he shot you in the eye?”

“No. There was about a hundred traells waiting for him. One of them did it, and it hurts pretty bad,” Slagfid whimpered. “Now I’ve told all I know. Call Halflook, like you promised.”

“Call Halflook?” the chieftain roared. “After you let Tavis Burdun escape-for the second time?”

The scout glanced over the log and saw Hagamil jerk Slagfid’s hand away from the wounded giant’s face.

“You don’t deserve no shaman!” the chieftain growled.

With that, Hagamil pinched the runearrow between his thumb and finger, then plucked it from the warrior’s eye. Although the shaft was little more than a sliver to a frost giant, Hagamil’s careless extraction resulted in the removal of more than the splinter. Slagfid howled in pain, slapping one palm over his emptied socket and grasping after Hagamil’s hand with the other. Wincing at the chieftain’s cruelty, Tavis lowered his head and dragged himself to the edge of the pit.

What the scout saw nearly made him howl more loudly than Slagfid-though in joy, not pain. Avner and the remorhaz stood in the center of the pit, warily circling each other. The battle had obviously been a difficult one for the boy, at least if his bloodied back and chattering teeth were any indication. But the youth had given better than he had received. Blood was streaming down the remorhaz’s face from an amputated tentacle, it was listing badly toward several mangled legs, and it was holding one segment of its body higher than the rest to keep its manacled legs off the ice.

Wondering how Avner had ever shackled the beast, Tavis nocked an arrow and stood, already pulling his bowstring back. He loosed the shaft the instant his feet were steady. The missile did not pierce so much as shatter the ice worm’s chitinous head, and the beast collapsed to the floor in a clattering heap.

Avner spun around and looked up at Tavis, silently mouthing, “It’s about time!”

The youth wasn’t the only who noticed the remorhaz’s death. At the sound of its clattering demise, Hagamil and several other giants looked into the pit, their faces betraying their disappointment at missing the climax of the worm-baiting. When they saw Tavis’s arrow lying near the lifeless beast, their expressions quickly changed to bewilderment. The chieftain was the quickest to realize what had happened and lifted his gaze to the rim of the pit

“There’s Tavis Burdun!” Hagamil gestured at the scout with the gruesome orb at the end of the runearrow. “After him!”

“Basil is wise!” Tavis yelled.

The runearrow exploded in Hagamil’s grasp, hurling the chieftain-now missing one hand-and all the giants behind him into the wall. The impact dislodged a dozen huge icicles, which dropped from the ceiling like spears and lodged themselves amidst the confused tangle.

Avner started toward the scout’s corner in a slipping, sliding sprint Tavis placed a foot in one of the log’s enormous steps and gave it a shove, at the same time pulling a regular arrow from his quiver. As the youth climbed the ladder, the scout nocked his shaft and started toward the exit.

Clutching the bloody stump at the end of his wrist, Hagamil rose and moved to cut the escapees off. Tavis fired, and the arrow lodged itself deep in the giant’s midriff. Although the impact hardly slowed the frost giant, his face paled to a sickly shade of ivory. He looked down at the dark fletching in horror.

“Another step and I’ll say the words!” Tavis warned.

Hagamil stopped, two of his enormous paces from the exit. Several more warriors extracted themselves from the groaning pile behind the chieftain and came to stand at his side, but he motioned for them to go no farther. The scout drew a real runearrow from his quiver, but did not nock it

“If you let us go, that arrow in your stomach won’t explode,” Tavis said, choosing his words carefully and keeping a sharp eye on Hagamil. “But the instant anyone so much as steps toward the exit, you die.”

The threat caused several giants to raise a thoughtful brow.

“And if I go, so does Halflook,” Hagamil was quick to add. “You don’t want to be without your shaman, do you?”

The giants frowned and stepped back, giving Tavis and Avner a clear path. The two slipped along the wall, taking care to stay well out of Hagamil’s reach, and backed through the exit into the windy night The scout glanced down the slope to make certain Graytusk was where he had left the beast, then nocked his third-to-last runearrow.

Avner whispered, “I hope you noticed that isn’t a runearrow in Hagamil’s gut”

“I can’t afford to waste any,” the scout explained.

From inside the cavern echoed a nervous groan, followed by Hagamil’s angry voice, “It’s out Get them!”

“Now, Olchak!” Tavis yelled, praying the old man and his fellows had gotten into position in time. “They’re coming!”

Olchak and two assistants leaped from their hiding places beside the cavern, tugging on one end of a thick rope. As they pulled, a heavy line rose out of the snow at the cave’s mouth, coming taut at a height of about six feet. The traells quickly knotted their rope around an ice crag, then sprinted toward Graytusk.

Tavis pulled his bowstring back, aiming his runearrow at the ice far above the cavern mouth. He had to hold the tension for only a moment before the first frost giant came running out of the cave. The brute’s ankle caught on the line and snapped it like twine, but that did not save him from tripping and crashing face-first into the snow. The second giant fell over him, and the scout released his shaft as the third warrior appeared in the entrance. The runearrow struck perhaps a hundred feet above their heads, burying itself deep into the icy cliff.

“Basil is wise!” Avner yelled gleefully.

A deafening crack rang out across the caldera, then a mountain of ice crashed down on the fallen giants. They did not even have time to scream before they vanished beneath the roaring avalanche.

“That should keep Hagamil penned until morning,” Tavis said, yelling to make himself heard above the din. He took Avner by the arm and limped toward Graytusk. “Let’s hope there isn’t another exit.”

“Yeah,” said Avner. “Then it’d be a lot easier for them to beat us to Split Mountain.”

“Split Mountain?” Tavis asked. “Why would we go there?”

Avner shrugged. “I don’t know.” A mischievous grin crept across the youth’s lips. “But the traells heard you say you wanted to go to some meeting the frost giants are having. That’s where it’s supposed to be.”