The Titan of Twilight Page 12

  “Down low in the mine. Quillorn and Romney heard a fomorian screaming and followed the sound into a flooded tunnel.” The messenger did not come forward far enough for Avner to see. “They glimpsed a light shining from a side tunnel, and heard a woman’s voice.”

  As the messenger reported, Avner saw Horatio’s finger drop to one corner of his sketch-map.

  The messenger continued, “They waded down to the passage, but they weren’t fast enough to stop the humans.”

  “Stop them?” demanded Raeyadfourne.

  “When they looked into the passage, they saw blue light shining up from a big hole in the floor, and there were some of Tavis Burdun’s exploding arrows in the ceiling,” the messenger reported. “They heard his voice call out a magic word, then ducked around the corner. The whole tunnel collapsed on the pit.”

  “Karontor’s wolves! They’ve dropped into the fire giant tunnel!” Horatio’s fingers flew back and forth over his map for a moment longer, then he looked up at Raeyadfourne. “We may as well go home and prepare for war! They’re going out the other end!”

  Raeyadfourne frowned. “The other end?”

  “The fire giants tried to trap the humans between two groups,” Horatio explained. “Their tunnel had two portals.”

  “Then let’s go!” Raeyadfourne started into a drift. “We’ll cut them off.”

  “Where?” Horatio demanded. “The only thing we know about the second portal is that it’s someplace down the canyon. The fire giant tunnel will run straight to it, while we must wind our way out of this mine and up the gorge—”

  “Enough!” Raeyadfourne’s eyes had grown angry as a blizzard. “We can’t give up now. For all we know, the fire giant tunnel could be blocked. I’ll gather my warriors and the fomorians, then start digging. You take the verbeegs and try to find that exit.”

  “We’ll never reach it before the humans,” Horatio warned.

  “But you will try.” Raeyadfourne motioned to Galgadayle and Munairoe, then started into the drift with the messenger.

  “Wait!” barked Jerome, starting after the firbolgs. “Do you take us for fools? If the tunnel is blocked, you’ll capture the queen and we’ll be left outside. I’m going with you.”

  Horatio caught the younger verbeeg by the arm. “Jerome, what difference does it make who captures the queen?” His voice was strangely calm. “The important thing is to kill the child, and we can trust the firbolgs to do that.”

  Jerome scowled at his fellow. “You want me to go with you?”

  “Exactly.” Horatio smiled at Raeyadfourne, then placed a hand on Marwick’s trembling shoulder. “And since we are going outside anyway, we’ll put the captive with the others your tribe is holding.”

  Raeyadfourne frowned. “There’s no use torturing him,” the firbolg warned. “He knows nothing that will help us capture the queen.”

  Horatio nodded. “On my word, we will not harm him.”

  “My thanks, then,” the chieftain replied. “And I shall look in on his condition later.”

  Raeyadfourne turned and led his two fellows into the tunnel. Marwick’s fear showed so brightly that his eyes were almost glowing. The front rider stared after the firbolg torches until they had faded into darkness, then darted for the drift next to Avner’s.

  Jerome was expecting the maneuver. The verbeeg’s arm shot out quick as lightning and plucked the front rider off his feet. “Now, midget, you will tell us what you know.”

  “Of course,” Marwick gasped. “You don’t have to hurt me. I won’t hide anything.”

  Avner raised his dagger, but had to hold his throw when Horatio snatched Marwick from the younger verbeeg.

  “Jerome, we have no time for that.”

  Horatio snapped the front rider’s spine as casually as a man would wring a chicken’s neck, then threw the lifeless body down the black maw of narrow shaft. The corpse bounced down the passage with a series of slowly fading thuds.

  Jerome peered down the hole. “Why did you do that?”

  Horatio planted a finger on his map. “Because of this pit,” he explained. “Unless I miss my guess, the fire giants cut through it with their tunnel. If we hurry, we’ll be waiting when Queen Brianna goes by.”

  Jerome’s harelip twisted into an greedy smile. “And then she’ll be our prisoner,” he said. “We can demand all the ransom we want.”

  * * * * *

  The tunnel was as smooth and straight as the halls of Castle Hartwick, and so dark that the soot-covered walls swallowed light as a river swallows snowflakes. The queen’s party was moving along at a trot, with Gryffitt running thirty paces ahead, holding the queen’s dagger to illuminate his path. Brianna was holding Mountain Crusher to light the way for Tavis and his fellow litter bearers.

  Despite the pain in his ribs, Tavis easily kept pace with the others. There was nothing to see in this passage and little to worry about, other than a few boulders hanging loose in the ceiling and the slick footing of the wet floor. With any luck at all, they would be out of the mountain shortly.

  “I think we’re going to be safe, milady,” Tavis reported. “We should reach Wynn Castle by sunrise.”

  “You’ve done well, Lord Scout,” Brianna replied. “But I must admit I won’t feel safe even after we return to our own castle. The war with the giants has been bad enough. I don’t know if we can defeat a ’kin alliance as well.”

  “Let’s not worry about the ’kin now,” Tavis suggested. “Perhaps the light of day will show us a way to put to rest our trouble with them.”

  “What could possibly change between now and tomorrow?”

  Tavis hesitated before answering, and it was a mistake.

  “Well?” Brianna asked. “What will daylight show us, save more trouble?”

  “Perhaps we can strike a compromise with the firbolgs,” Tavis replied. “After all, Galgadayle’s dream was not entirely correct.”

  “Entirely?” Brianna sat up, twisting around to look at Tavis and consequently shielding her nursing child from his view. “Exactly what do you think was correct about Galgadayle’s prophecy?”

  Tavis did not want to answer. Lying was out of the question, of course, but so was telling Brianna that her child’s face bore the worst features of both the ettin’s heads. “Let’s discuss this tomorrow, after we’ve had more rest.”

  “No. I want to know now,” Brianna insisted. “You don’t think Kaedlaw is your son, do you?”

  The two men carrying the forward half of the litter stumbled and nearly fell.

  “Brianna, this is not the time to discuss what I think,” Tavis said. “You’re still weak, I’m exhausted and sore, and the only important thing is to reach the protection of Wynn Castle.”

  “Answer me!” Brianna yelled. “I command it as your queen.”

  “We’d better slow down,” Tavis said. Once his fellow litter bearers had obeyed, he took a deep breath and met his wife’s gaze. “Kaedlaw was fathered by the imposter. He’s too ugly to be mine.”

  The two front riders glanced over their shoulders, one with an arched brow and the other a slack jaw.

  Brianna shrieked, “Ugly?”

  Tavis nodded, his eyes fixed on Kaedlaw’s piggish face. “That round head,” he said. “That pug nose and double chin … what made you think he was my child?”

  Tears streamed from Brianna’s eyes. “Tavis, how could you?”

  Tavis wanted to reach out and embrace his wife, but he could not free his hands without dropping her litter. “You were beguiled.”

  “You’re the one who’s beguiled!” Brianna shouted. “What spell did Galgadayle cast on you—or have you betrayed me of your own accord?”

  “I haven’t betrayed you,” Tavis insisted. “But you must admit that the child doesn’t resemble me. Just look at his eyes: mine are blue and yours are violet, but his are brown. And whose eyes were brown? The imposter’s!”

  Brianna’s expression went blank, then her eyes began to widen in terror. At the same time
, the two front riders abruptly stopped walking and turned around.

  “Lord Scout, what are you talking about?” asked one. “The child’s eyes are as blue as ice!”

  Tavis scowled at the man. “What’s wrong with you?” He looked from the front rider to Brianna, who now had a distant expression on her face, then back again. “Did the queen order you to say that?”

  The second front rider shook his head. “She ordered nothing of the sort. The child looks just like you!” The man looked toward the queen with an expression so tender he might have been her husband, then added, “Not that you deserve a royal son!”

  Brianna threw her legs over the edge of the litter and, still holding Tavis’s bow, stumbled around behind the two front riders. There was a mad, terrified light in her violet eyes.

  “Gryffitt!” She did not look away from the high scout as she yelled.

  Far up the passage, Tavis saw the front rider’s distant figure stop. “Yes, Majesty?”

  “Come back here,” Brianna commanded. “You shall carry my litter, and we shall send this—this firbolg—to scout ahead.”

  “That’s not necessary, Brianna,” Tavis said. “There’s something strange happening here. I’m seeing one thing, and everyone else another.”

  “Silence, firbolg!” Brianna snapped. Something clattered far up the tunnel, in the darkness beyond Gryffitt, but the queen paid it no heed. “You will do as I command, or I’ll have you executed for treason.”

  From behind Gryffitt came the echo of flat feet slapping against the wet floor. The front rider pulled his hand 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

  Wynn Castle

  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.

&nbs
p; 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.”

  Tavis allowed himself to be stopped, then took a deep breath and addressed the guards. “I didn’t realize what your orders were. Please carry on—and I’m sorry for my reaction.”

  “No offense taken, milord,” said the sergeant. “If my wife ordered a guard on me, I’d be … er … surprised, too.”

  In spite of his words, the soldier did not remove his hand from his sword hilt, and neither did the guards with him.

  Tavis retreated to the ice-capped merlon where Basil was already kneeling on the roof, using a small runebrush to trace a circle around their feet. Though the tip had not been dipped in paint or ink, a sparkling green pigment flowed from beneath the bristles. When the runecaster finished drawing the boundary, he slowly and carefully traced a complicated tangle of sticklike lines in the heart of the ring.