The Ogre's Pact

13. Dale of the Gray Wolves

The iron plate rose into place with a deep, rumbling boom, and Rog slipped the enormous crossbar onto its supports, locking Goboka on the other side of the gate. The two hill giant guards released the hoisting chains and let them crash against the cliff, shaking the timber platform so hard Brianna feared the rickety thing would come apart. The ends of the chains slipped through a pair of slots, then hung beneath the huge shelf, dangling in the wind.

On this side of the mountain, the fault cave opened high on a wind-scoured wall of cold, sheer granite. Aside from a Umber road that hung suspended from the stone face, the cliff was so smooth and clean it could have been cut by the axe of Stronmaus. It stretched for hundreds of feet in both directions, abruptly ending at a craggy rib with nothing but empty air beyond. Below- far, far below-lay a wooded dale encircled by precipices similar to the one upon which the companions stood. In the center of this valley the hill giants had hacked a muddy clearing from the forest and erected a small village of rough-hewn lodges. Though the buildings were probably as large as castles, from so high up they seemed as small as shepherds' lean-tos, and the giants wandering between them looked no larger than sheep.

Brianna went a short distance down the timber road, then laid Tavis beside the cliff. Though his swollen cheek had almost closed one eye, the princess suspected that other injuries were more pressing. Taking the dagger from the scout's good hand, she cut his cloak away.

Tavis's body was strong and lean, with a powerful neck and shoulders. His chest was also larger than Brianna had expected, muscular and sharply defined, while his stomach was so flat and sinewy it looked like a stone giant had chiseled it from a granite slab. It was the kind of torso that the princess's eyes might have lingered on for a very long time, had she not seen several other things that concerned her deeply.

Where his skin color had not been tainted by the effects of his wounds, the scout was as pale as alabaster. His sternum had turned black and swollen up to form a dome as big around as Brianna's fist. There was a gash in his side so long and deep that she could have hidden the dagger in it. Most troubling of all was the steady stream of blood oozing from his mangled arm. If she did not halt that flow, Tavis would be dead within minutes.

"Will he be all right?" demanded Avner.

"I'll do what I can," Brianna replied. She found it difficult to speak around the catch in her throat. "But I am young, and Hiatea has not blessed me with her most powerful healing magic-and only two of her lesser remedies."

"You can't let him die!" Avner burst.

"The princess will do all she can," Morten said, coming up behind the boy. "You'll only make the task more difficult by disturbing her."

Brianna slipped her amulet from around her neck, then opened her waterskin and placed her goddess's flaming spear inside. "Valorous Hiatea, bless this water with your magic so that it may boil the enemy's contagion from the wounds of this…"

Brianna hesitated, trying to think of the kindest thing she could honestly say about Tavis. Hiatea was not profligate with her magic, seldom granting it to aid those who had proven themselves unworthy of her attention, and the princess feared that her goddess would not heed her call to aid the firbolg. To her surprise, she found herself terribly alarmed by that possibility, so much so that unsummoned tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Bless this water so that it may scald the evil from this warrior's blood," she continued. "Many times has Tavis Burdun's bravery saved my life and that of an orphaned child. He has served you in that much, at least."

Avner demanded. "Does your goddess let people die just because she thinks they've done bad things?"

"We'll talk later," Brianna replied, hardly hearing the boy.

"But Tavis didn't know-"

"Later!" Morten grunted. He plucked Avner up and carried him across the platform to where the boy would not interfere with the princess's work.

Brianna brushed the tears from her eyes, then spoke the mystic syllables that would actually shape Hiatea's purifying magic. A gentle gurgle arose inside her waterskin, then the sides puffed out and white vapor gushed from the open neck. The princess sighed in relief. Her supplication had convinced the goddess of Tavis's worthiness.

The princess removed her talisman and poured the boiling liquid over her patient's injuries. White bubbles frothed up in the open cuts, though not to the extent she had expected. She had assumed the scout's blood would be so full of wicked contagions that it would continue to lather until her waterskin ran empty. Instead, the fluid quickly cleared and began to stream from his wounds in red-tinged runnels. Brianna bit her lip, puzzled. When she had healed Morten back on Coggin's Rise, even his blood had frothed more than Tavis's.

The scout's eyes popped open. "Bri… an… na!" he croaked. The effort of speaking drained even more color from his face. "Giants!"

Noticing that his gaze was fixed over his shoulder, Brianna looked up to see that the three hill giants had come to watch her work her magic. In one hand, Rog still held Greta's limp form, but no other wolves were near, for the rest had perished inside the fault cave.

Brianna returned her attention to Tavis. "Don't you remember? Rog is our friend; we're safe with him."

Given the power of the shaman's magic, the princess was not entirely sure that was true. But if Goboka did find a way past the gate, Brianna could only hope Rog and his two friends would be able to dispatch the ogre.

Tavis grabbed her head and pulled her car close to his mouth. "No. Can't… trust… giants!"

"Be quiet," the princess said gently. "You're not strong enough to talk."

Brianna placed her silver spear on the scout's mauled arm, then closed her eyes and uttered the mystic syllables of her healing spell. A wave of searing heat pulsed from the silver spear, and Tavis cried out.

Brianna opened her eyes again and looked down to see her amulet flickering with orange fire. The arm itself was hidden by a pall of gray smoke, though the princess could see tongues of yellow flame dancing where there had been runnels of blood before. Hiatea's magic continued to sear the mangled limb for several moments. Tavis groaning in pain as the heat burned his flesh. At last, the flames died and the smoke cleared, revealing a hairless arm covered with swirls of raw, scorched hide.

By way of comforting Tavis, Brianna said, "Don't worry, it'll look better after I heal it a few more times. At least the bleeding's stopped."

The scout hardly seemed to notice the arm. "Just make me strong enough… to protect you." Then, so quietly that even the princess could barely hear him, he gasped, "In case you're wrong… about Noote."

Brianna held her gaze on Tavis's. The scout's persistence was beginning to convince her that he believed what he was saying. Perhaps Basil or Runolf, or both of them, had lied to him. That would certainly explain his fanatic accusations against her father and Noote.

"We'll worry about that later." Brianna took a hooked needle from her satchel and ran a coarse black thread through its eye. "Right now, I must concentrate on you."

"But-"

The scout's objection changed to a hiss of pain as Brianna pinched the gash on his stomach closed. Before he could protest further, she slipped the tip of her needle through a flap of skin and began to stitch the wound shut. Tavis allowed her to work in silence, perhaps because he found it impossible to speak through clenched teeth.

The princess had to concentrate to keep her attention focused on the task at hand. Her thoughts kept wandering back to what had happened when she purified Tavis's wounds. The lack of froth suggested the scout was exactly what she had originally believed: a rather naive, self-sacrificing firbolg incapable of treachery. Yet, that could not be so. Even if she dismissed his accusations against her father, she had seen with her own eyes that Tavis was a thief. The two incidents were contradictory, and she did not understand how she could have witnessed them both.

Brianna finished closing the wound and returned the needle to her satchel. In spite of her efforts, brightly colored blood continued to ooze from between the gash's puffy lips, she laid her talisman over the cut, then decided to make a quick inspection of the bruise on Tavis's chest before using her last healing spell. The wound on his stomach was probably a greater threat to his life, but the bruise might mask some internal injury that would kill him more quickly.

The princess placed her hands on both sides of the black circle and pushed down, steadily increasing the pressure. Despite Tavis's howl of pain, she was pleased by what she felt. The sternum had not moved and probably was not cracked. Next, the princess grabbed the dome of swollen flesh and worked it back and forth between her fingers, drawing even louder cries from the scout. The lump felt soft and watery, with no sign of anything solid inside.

"If you're… trying to kill me, just slit my throat," the scout growled. "It'd hurt less."

"Don't be such a coward," Brianna chided. 'This is nothing but a bruise. You're not going to die from it."

With that, the princess touched Hiatea's talisman and cast her last healing spell. The spear's silver flames flickered to life, sending a wave of searing heat deep into the scout's abdomen. He gasped in pain, his eyes rolling back in their sockets as a thin line of yellow fire shot from the slash. The flames continued to burn for a moment then, beginning at one end of the gash, slowly died away, leaving the lips of the wound melted together. The black thread remained untouched by the magical blaze, for it would be some time before the skin alone was strong enough to keep the cut from ripping open.

Once the spell was finished, Tavis's eyes rolled back into their normal positions. He was even more pale than before Brianna had healed him, with a cold sweat running down his brow.

"Now will you listen to me?" he asked.

"If that will make you feel better," Brianna said, giving him an overly sweet smile. She laid her talisman upon the scout's bruised chest, taking care to position it directly over the scout's heart. "Just let me do one more thing."

Brianna closed her eyes, preparing to cast a spell that would prevent any lies from slipping his from lips.

"No!" Rog's voice shook the entire platform. "Wait!"

Brianna opened her eyes to see the hill giant laying Greta at her side. The ogre's arrow still protruded from the beast's flank, while his fur was matted and dark with drying blood.

"First fix Greta." The hill giant locked a threatening glare on the princess.

Brianna's stomach knotted in panic. She could cast no more healing spells today. But if she explained that to the hill giant, Tavis would wonder what spell she intended to cast on him. The princess took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry, Rog. It's more important that I use this spell on Tavis than on Greta."

"Liar!" Rog stooped over and pressed a huge finger to Tavis's bruised chest, drawing a groan of pain from the scout. "Him not die from little bruise. You say that!"

"Still, this spell is for him," Brianna said.

"No, use it on Rog's wolf," Tavis insisted. He took her amulet off his chest and returned it to her, at the same time pulling his lips to Brianna's ear. "We want him on our side."

"I doubt Hiatea will grant her magic on behalf of a dire wolf," Brianna countered.

"Why not? She's the goddess of the hunt as well as the family," he pointed out. "And dire wolves are nothing, if not hunters."

"But-"

"Save Greta!" Rog insisted. "Rog's other wolves all dead. You not tell him about ogres!"

"There wasn't time." Brianna objected.

As the princess spoke, Morten stepped to her side, axe in hand. Brianna knew he would be hard pressed to defend her against a single giant, let alone three.

Rog seemed to know this better than the princess. He dropped to his hands and knees, in the process brushing Morten aside and nearly knocking him from the platform.

"Not matter," Rog growled. The hill giant, eyes narrowed, hovered over Brianna. "How you feel if Rog not watch where he step and squish horse? Same thing, huh?"

"There's nothing I can do for Greta," Brianna said. Her jaws ached with nausea, for her lungs were filled with the giant's breath, a foul odor that smelled like rotting swamp grass and rancid meat "Maybe tomorrow-"

"Cast the spell on the wolf!" Tavis urged. "Or do you want to get everyone else killed along with yourself?"

"Tavis not worry." Rog said. "Tavis friend-save Greta."

It did not escape the notice of either Brianna or her bodyguard that the hill giant had limited his reassurances strictly to the scout. Morten stood and carefully moved forward to place himself near the princess.

At the same time, Brianna lowered her head until her lips were next to the scout's ear. "I need you on my side," she whispered. "If I cast my spell on the wolf, all it'll do is howl in its sleeps-if it does that much."

"What do you mean?" Tavis demanded.

"I've run out of healing spells for today," Brianna replied. She spoke loudly enough so the hill giant could hear also. "The spell I was going to use on you was true speaking-so I'd know you were telling the truth."

Tavis's jaw dropped. "You can do that?"

Brianna nodded. "As long as you don't resist-which is why I haven't tried it before now," she explained. "I was trying to take you unaware."

The scout shook his head in astonishment. "Women!" he hissed. "I'll never understand you. Why didn't you just ask?"

"You'll let me cast the spell on you?" Brianna did no! know whether she was more astonished or confused. Even the most honest of men were reluctant to give someone complete access to their innermost thoughts. "And I can ask you anything?"

The scout nodded. "If Rog lets you live that long," he said, glancing above her.

Brianna looked up and saw the hill giant's head still poised above her. His lips were twisted into an angry snarl, and his brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Can't save Greta?" he demanded.

"Then kill humans," suggested one of his friends. "Don't taste good anyway."

Rog's second friend reached out and plucked Avner off the platform. "If stupid girl can't save Greta, then Kol crush boy!"

Avner's face, all that showed above the giant's thumb went as pale as Tavis's. "Maybe we can get more wolves?" he suggested.

Rog shook his head stubbornly. "Take years to train new bully wolf. Raise from pup, teach to like Rog, to make others obey," he complained. "Without Greta, Rog no hunter. Him just stupid guard."

The other giants frowned at this. "What wrong with that?" demanded Kol, the one holding Avner.

"Yeah. Sart like being stupid guard," the other confirmed. "Sleep on same floor every night, rut whenever Sart like."

Rog's face reddened as he realized he had insulted his friends. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "Nothing wrong with being stupid guard-for you. Rog not stupid. Him smart, have own pack."

This did not alleviate the tension. "Not after Greta die," smirked Sart.

"Yeah, then Rog stupid, too," added Kol.

Rog's face went pale. He looked back to Brianna and pointed at the dire wolf. "Fix Greta!"

"Maybe you can do something without a spell," Tavis said. "The ogre poison only knocks its victims unconscious. It doesn't kill them. With luck, Greta may not be injured that badly."

Brianna needed only a glance to know the scout's hopes were without foundation. Though she had never tended a dire wolf before, she could see the arrow had lodged itself deep in the intestines. The ogre poison had done the beast a service by knocking it unconscious. Such wounds were terribly painful and, without a prompt healing spell, invariably fatal. The princess could do nothing. Removing the arrow would only bring death sooner, and counteracting the poison would revive the wolf only so it could suffer a horrible death.

"Fix Greta now!" Rog insisted.

Brianna began to prod and poke the wolfs belly, desperately trying to buy time to think. Her stomach was churning with fear, not as much for herself as for the boy, and there was something else, too: guilt. She had been wrong to doubt the scout, and her mistake could, cost Avner's life-as well as hers and Morten's. The princess still did not understand what had happened back in Hartwick, but she now accepted that somehow she had interpreted events incorrectly. No thief would allow a truth-speaking spell to be cast on him, yet Tavis had been more than anxious to subject himself to it and clear his name. She owed him a big apology-if she could figure out a way to keep herself and her friends alive that long.

Their only hope was Tavis's friendship with Rog, Brianna decided. If anyone stood a chance of reasoning with the hill giant, it would be the scout. The princess looked up and caught Tavis's eye, then shook her head ever so slightly.

The motion did not escape Rog. "Do something!" he boomed.

Tavis pushed himself to his feet, bracing himself against the cliff face to keep from reeling. "Rog, listen-"

"No!" The hill giant pushed the scout back down, then looked over his shoulder at Kol. "Drop stupid boy over cliff!"

Kol extended his arm over the edge of the platform. Brianna caught her bodyguard's eye, then flicked her head toward Avner. Morten obeyed instantly, moving to intercept Kol with a raised axe. Rog lashed out and caught the burly firbolg by the ankle, then lifted him high into the air.

"Fat firbolg next!" he declared.

At the edge of the platform, Kol began to open his fist one finger at a time. A wicked grin creased his mouth, then he teased, "Rog gonna be stupid, too!"

Avner's eyes were opened wide with fear and his lips were trembling uncontrollably, but the boy seemed far from resigned to his fate. Although he could move no more than his head, the youth's eyes were wildly searching for a means of saving himself.

"Rog, do you think I'll keep my promise if you let Kol kill that boy?" Brianna asked. She did not know whether the hill giant would consider ten horses worth the price of his wolf pack, but it was her last hope. "Do you think I'll send all those horses?"

Kol's fist closed instantly, once again holding Avner secure. "Horses?"

Sart scowled in Rog's direction. "You didn't tell us nothing about horses!"

Brianna stood, breathing a silent sigh of relief. "I promised to give Rog ten horses if he'd help me."

"With what?" demanded Kol, eyeing Rog suspiciously.

"To go see Noote," Rog growled. He scowled down at Brianna. "And Rog say a hundred horses!"

Kol pulled Avner back from the edge of the platform. "A hundred horses?"

"That's right," Brianna replied. "But there won't be any if we're hurt."

Sart and Kol nodded to Brianna. "We not let Rog hurt you."

"Them's Rog's horses!" The hill giant tossed Morten toward the wall.

The bodyguard hit with a loud thump, then dropped to the timber road at Tavis's side, gasping for air as he tried to recover his breath.

Rog stepped toward Kol. "Give boy!"

Kol backed away, placing Sart in front of himself and holding Avner out of reach. "Share!" he yelled.

"Rog lose wolves!" Rog thundered back, stopping in front of Sart. "Not Kol! Not Sart!"

With that, the hill giant loosed a vicious right hook that landed with a deafening boom. Sart slammed into the cliff, dropping with such force that the sound of splintering timbers echoed off the granite wall. Fearing the platform would collapse, Brianna, in a futile search for handholds, turned to clutch at the smooth cliff.

"Rog, I'll bring horses for everyone!" Brianna yelled.

Rog was too angry to pay her offer any more heed than he did the shaking platform. He stepped past Sart and tried to snatch Avner. Kol shoved him away, then stepped back. He was now standing directly in front of the fault cave gate, with less than a pace of platform left behind him.

"Leave Kol alone!"

"Give boy here!"

Rog lunged for the hand holding the boy, and Kol twisted away. For an instant it looked like Avner's captor would dodge aside and send his attacker plunging over the edge, then Rog caught himself by smashing an elbow into his foe's temple. Kol's eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees buckled. He collapsed backward, the hand clutching his prize still extended, and tumbled headfirst over the edge of the platform. Avner's muffled voice cried out in alarm, the hoisting chains rallied briefly, then Kol's echoing death scream drowned out both sounds.

"Avner!"

Brianna leaped to her feet and charged toward the end of the platform, but quickly found her way blocked by Sart's enormous form.

"Kol killer!" Sart threw himself forward, driving his shoulder squarely into the other giant's back.

Rog roared and stumbled forward, one enormous hand scraping at the sheer wall of the cliff as he tried to brace himself. "Stop! Stop!"

Sart's feet continued to pound the floor of the platform, driving Rog back, closer to the edge. Brianna was too horror-stricken to think. She didn't know what to do-didn't know what she could do-to stop the titanic struggle before her, or even whether she should after Avner's loss. Her companions seemed as horrified and dumbfounded as she. They were staring at the battle with gaping mouths and making no move to rise.

"Rog sorry!" Rog yelled. "Rog share!"

With a final, thunderous grunt, Sart shoved the other giant toward the edge. Rog's terrified voice rumbled through the entire platform, then, arms flailing wildly, he followed Kol into the valley below.

Sart stared after Rog only until a distant crash echoed up from the bottom of the cliff. Then, his breath coming in great gusts of foul-smelling wind, he turned back to Brianna and her companions.

"Now Sart take you to Noote," he said, a rapacious grin on his lips. "Get horses for himself."

As the peasant's wagon trundled across Earls Bridge, a chorus of trumpets echoed from the summit of Castle Hartwick's lofty ramparts. A sonorous thud sounded from inside the walls, then the gates began to creak open.

"Stop here and let me out," ordered Earl Wendel. The earl issued the command from the bed of the peasant's wagon, where he lay with two of his unconscious fellows. The other seven survivors of the ogre ambush waited in more carts back at the guardhouse, where the sentries had halted them for fear of overloading the bridge. "I won't meet my king in an oxcart."

The peasant halted the wagon as ordered. "You shouldn't be walking, milord," he protested. "Your wounds are too serious."

"I think I can make fifty paces." Wendel could not quite keep the sarcasm out of his voice, for his two arrow wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in the thigh, had not stopped him from dragging one of his fellows out of the mountains on a sledge of pine branches.

The earl climbed down from the wagon and limped toward the gate, where he saw Gavorial's enormous face glaring out at him.

"Where's Tavis?" demanded the stone giant.

"We don't have him," Wendel replied.

"Why not?" The muffled question came from behind Gavorial, but that did not stop Wendel from recognizing the voice as Camden's. "Did you kill him?"

"No, Your Highness."

Gavorial abruptly retreated from the gateway, then the king himself came storming onto the bridge, his chamberlain and young queen, Celia of Dunsany, trailing close behind. Wendel stopped a few paces in front of the oxcart to wait for his liege.

Upon reaching the earl, Camden demanded, "If you didn't kill Tavis Burdun, what are you doing here?" The circles beneath the king's eyes were as dark as charcoal, and his lower lip was bloody and chapped from constant biting. "Where is he?"

"Somewhere beyond the Needle Peak glacier by now," Wendel replied, alarmed by Camden's demeanor. Only a madman would be more worried about avenging his wounded pride than his kidnapped daughter. "He saved us from an ogre ambush, then promised to surrender on his own-after Morten helped him rescue Brianna."

An angry light flashed in the king's eyes. "You allowed that?"

"We had no choice." Wendel motioned to his wounded fellows in the oxcart. "None of us could stand at the time."

Camden glared at the wagon for several moments, his expression growing as dark as a mountain storm. Suddenly, he looked back to Wendel.

"You can stand now? " he yelled.

The king shoved Wendel hard, sending him crashing to the ground at the feet of the peasant's ox.

"Go back and do as I commanded!"

The queen, a golden-haired girl standing barely up to Camden's elbow, placed herself between Wendel and the king.

"Please, milord. Earl Wendel and these other men have already suffered much on your behalf." As Celia spoke, she kept her eyes fixed on Camden's feet, clearly frightened to look her own husband in the eye. "You're being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable!" Camden roared.

Celia grimaced, but nodded. "Aye," she said. "These men need to rest-and to see Simon."

The king scowled at her, then stepped past the quivering peasant to peer at the unconscious figures in the back of the wagon. "So they do."

Suddenly, Camden's voice seemed as gentle as a meadow breeze. Wendel found the abrupt mood change more frightening than he had the king's anger.

"They'll stay at Castle Hartwick until they recover," the king declared. He seemed to grow thoughtful, then added, "And I'll have to do something else about Tavis Burdun, won't I?"

Celia breathed a sigh of relief. She reached down and took Wendel's arm, helping him to his feet. "Please forgive him," she whispered. "The strain has affected his temper."

"It's affected more than his temper," Wendel replied, eyeing the king nervously.

"Ssshhh!" Celia hissed. "There's no telling what he'll do if he hears you."

But there was no danger of that, Wendel saw.

Camden had already turned to face his nervous chamberlain. "Bjordrek, do you think Noote is home by now?"

The chamberlain nodded. "M-most certainly," he said. "He left the day after Brianna's disappearance."

"Good. Needle Peak isn't far from Gray Wolf lands." Camden grabbed his chamberlain by the shoulders and shoved him toward the gate. "Go and tell Simon to prepare one of his message birds. I must ask Noote to do something for me."