The Ogre's Pact

7. Silent Ravine

A trio of mule deer flashed past Tavis's shoulder, their hooves pattering almost silently across the needle-covered ground. They ran up the ravine for a short distance, white rumps flashing behind gray pine boles, to where the small valley bent sharply to the north. Here, the doe suddenly pulled up short, then darted into the mouth of a rocky gulch. The three beasts vanished from sight as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the forest as still as it had been a moment earlier.

Tavis continued to walk, forcing himself not to look back. The skin between his shoulder blades felt cold and clammy, a sure sign that his senses had detected some danger his mind could not yet identify. His first thought was that Morten and the earls were catching up, but he did not hear snapping sticks or rattling armor or alarmed birds, or any other sounds to suggest an ungainly firbolg and eighteen overburdened humans were tramping through the wood behind him. In fact, an unnatural hush had fallen over the entire valley, and he heard nothing but the wind whispering through the pines.

It had to be ogres. Few things silenced a forest like a pack of ogres, and even mule deer were not so skittish that the doe would have led her fawns so close if she had not been terrified. Somehow, an ogre patrol had slipped in behind Tavis and his companions. This alarmed the scout, not because it surprised him, but because he had expected Goboka to try exactly this maneuver, and he had still failed to notice it happening.

Tavis was also puzzled by how all three deer had survived long enough to come charging past. Ogres customarily killed every creature they found in their path, which was why the forest grew so quiet upon their approach-most beasts had developed the good sense to hide or flee at the first rancid whiff of ogre flesh. Yet the deer had been fleeing into the wind, which meant the doe would not have smelled the brutes until they were upon her. In this thick forest, she would not have seen or heard the ogres until they were easily within bow range. So how had she and her fawns escaped alive? None of them should have survived the brutes' poison-tipped arrows, much less all three. Ogres were better hunters than that.

Tavis pulled his bow off his shoulder and stepped behind a tree. He looked back down the gully, at the same time nocking an arrow, and found the astonished faces of Basil and Avner staring back at him.

"What are you doing?" Avner gasped.

"Take cover!" Tavis hissed, genuinely surprised the fleeing deer had failed to alarm the pair. "A pack of ogres snuck in behind us. They're coming up the ravine right now, hoping to plant their arrows in our backs."

Avner threw himself to the ground and crawled behind a boulder. Basil stepped behind a tree next to Tavis. They peered down the ravine, their eyes searching the maze of gray bark for some sign of movement.

"I don't see anything." Avner whispered.

Neither did Tavis. Save for a few pine boughs swaying gently in the wind, the wood was as still as ice. The scout raised his eyes toward the forest canopy, just in case the ogres were employing the same trick they had used on Coggin's Rise. He saw nothing in the green needles, not so much as a lurking squirrel or the silhouette of a frightened porcupine. The brutes could hide well enough on the ground, but even they were not so stealthy they could move through the treetops without leaving some sign. If there had been any warriors lurking among the branches, the scout would have seen signs: broken limbs, overturned nests, clawed bark, or something similar.

"Perhaps you were mistaken," Basil suggested. "This forest is empty."

"Too empty." Tavis said. "Listen."

Basil cocked his head to one side, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't hear anything."

"Me either!" Avner said. "I don't hear any singing birds."

"Or chattering squirrels, or whistling rockchucks," Tavis said. "We aren't alone here."

Basil began to fumble through his shoulder satchel. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough for you to draw a rune," Tavis answered. The ogres are fairly near, or those deer wouldn't have passed so close to us."

Avner swallowed hard. "So we have to fight?"

"Not yet," Tavis replied. "If we let the ogres pick the battle site, we're doomed."

"Then how do we escape?" Basil asked.

Tavis glanced up the ravine. He did not see any ogres ahead, but that, of course, was not as telling as the fact that the doe had turned into the side gully. Besides, if Goboka had sent a pack of warriors to sneak up from behind them, it seemed likely the shaman had also sent a second party to block their route, and the curve ahead was just the place to set such an ambush.

"They intend to drive us like game. The beaters will come from that direction." Tavis pointed down the ravine. "They'll try to chase us into an ambush just around that bend." The scout pointed up the gully at the curve.

"That's no answer to my question." Basil said, irritated. "How do we escape?"

Tavis was about to tell the verbeeg to run for the side gulch, but stopped when the distant crack of a snapping branch sounded from somewhere down the ravine. A faint metallic chime instantly followed the noise, then the forest fell silent again.

Basil stepped from behind his tree. "Ogres don't trip over sticks, and they don't wear armor," he said. "That was an earl."

"No doubt. But that doesn't mean I was wrong. The ogre beaters are still behind us. Morten and the earls are behind them." The scout pointed to where a loutish silhouette with a jutting chin and floppy ears had just slipped from behind the gray trunk of a huge pine.

Basil looked over his shoulder just in time to see the figure rush down the ravine a few noiseless steps, then vanish from sight behind another tree. The verbeeg's face paled, and he quickly returned to his own cover.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Tavis said. "We're almost out of their range."

Ogre bows were powerful enough by human standards, but they were no match for Bear Driller. Although the brutes were certainly strong enough to pull a bow as large as the scout's, they placed their faith in stealth and poison, and therefore preferred smaller weapons that were easier to fire in the tight hiding places from which they so often ambushed their prey. It was a strategy that worked well enough against unwitting opponents, but it had disadvantages in open combat.

"Being almost out of range isn't very reassuring," Basil said. "I'd much prefer to be entirely out of range."

"Me, too," Tavis agreed. "We'll run for it. I'll go a few paces up the ravine, then turn around to cover you."

"Turn around?" Avner hissed. "You'll be presenting your back to the ambushers up ahead!"

"I've got to present it to somebody. Besides, the ambushers will hold their attack until the beaters drive all three of us into close range," he explained. "You two move together. Dodge between trees and don't waste time looking back."

With that, the scout darted two dozen erratic steps up the ravine, changing directions each time he passed a tree, until he heard the soft thump of an ogre arrow striking a nearby pine. Had the range not been so great the shaft would be lodged in his head instead of the bole. He stepped behind a tree, then drew his own bowstring back and looked down the gully. There was no sign of the ogre who had fired at him.

"Now!" Tavis yelled.

Basil and Avner leaped out and charged up the ravine together for perhaps five steps, then split and took cover behind two separate trees. The ogres did not show themselves, though Tavis knew they were watching.

Basil left his cover first, moving two trees toward Avner, then changing his course and rushing in the opposite direction. The young thief followed. When both were in the open, three ogre beaters slipped from their hiding places and drew their bowstrings.

Tavis fired and pulled another arrow from his quiver. His first shaft struck home before his foes could release their volley, ripping through an ogre's shoulder and whirling him around. The brute howled in agony and released his shot into the air, then hit the ground with a gaping hole where the scout's large arrow had passed through his body.

The bowstrings of the two surviving ogres hummed. Their black arrows came arcing through the forest, the brutes having raised their aim to compensate for the distance. The fate of their companion had clearly disturbed them, for both shafts wobbled through the air with all the grace of pheasants in flight. The scout released his second shot. The string of his mighty bow pulsed with a loud, basal throb, and his arrow streaked away, passing beneath the two ogre shafts in midflight. One of the poisoned arrows dropped a full ten paces shy of its target, while the other careened harmlessly past Avner's head.

Tavis's arrow, driven by a much more powerful bow, struck in the next instant. The shaft tore through its target's stomach, moving with such velocity that it did not even knock him off his feet. The astonished brute simply dropped his weapons and reached for the hole that had suddenly appeared in his abdomen.

Without waiting to see him fall, Tavis nocked his third arrow. By the time he raised it to fire, the last ogre had ducked behind cover and was no longer a target. The scout waited for Avner and Basil to hide again, then turned and darted up the ravine toward the side gully.

This time, Tavis made it clear to the bend before a chorus of bowstrings sounded down the ravine. He threw himself over the trunk of a toppled pine, crashing through its brown-needled boughs. He looked out from beneath the tree and saw a half dozen black shafts drop several paces short of his hiding place.

Tavis rose to his knees and lifted his arrow over the tree, but he was too slow to find a target. He saw nothing but a handful of gray blurs as the ogres ducked behind their cover.

"Come on!" Tavis yelled. He knew that he was now within range of the ogre ambushers lurking behind the band, so he stayed low and listened carefully for any noises that suggested they were moving to attack earlier than he expected.

Basil and Avner rushed forward, crossing and recrossing paths as they ran up the ravine. This time, none of their foes were foolish enough to expose themselves to Tavis's arrows. The scout began to hope he and his friends might escape into the side gully unscathed, then somewhere up the ravine, an ogre ambusher made the uncharacteristic mistake of stepping on a loose stone.

Avner pulled his dagger from inside his tunic, calling. "Tavis, your back!"

The youth hurled his dagger. As the blade sliced through the air, Tavis spun around. He saw two ogres stepping around the bend, less than twenty paces away. Both were drawing their bowstrings back to fire.

Avner's dagger soared past Tavis's head and sailed straight at an ogre's throat. Normally, such a small blade would not fell an ogre, but the boy's aim was so true the knife took the creature right in the gullet, burying itself to the hilt. The brute released his arrow prematurely and collapsed, a surprised squawk gurgling from his mouth.

Tavis aimed at the second ogre, releasing his arrow as the brute released his. The scout did not wait to see his shaft strike. As soon he felt his bowstring scrape free of his fingers, he rolled to one side, crashing through the lifeless limbs beneath the fallen tree. The ogre's arrow clattered into the dry boughs and skipped away.

Pulling another arrow from his quiver. Tavis crawled out of the tangle of branches. He looked up and glimpsed his attacker's form standing in the same place he had been a moment earlier. The scout nocked his arrow and fired-not realizing until the shaft was in flight that he had already killed his target. The brute was pinned to a tree, the fletching of Tavis's first arrow protruding from the center of his chest. The second shaft split the first, driving through the ogre's body in the same hole.

The hum of ogre bows sounded from down the ravine, then Basil and Avner came diving over the toppled pine. Tavis spun around and saw a flurry of black shafts flying in their direction. Looking past the immediate danger, he spied a dozen loutish beaters scurrying up the ravine. Tavis allowed the ogre arrows to fall harmlessly to the ground, then nocked an arrow.

The ogres stopped running and dived for cover. Knowing it would take a moment before the beaters could fire, the scout spun around to face the ambushers. He glimpsed three more silhouettes slipping behind tree trunks.

"Up there!" Tavis gestured toward the side gully.

Basil and Avner sprinted into the gulch. Tavis followed more slowly, pointing his arrow first uphill, then downhill. The ogres made no move to prevent the escape and did not even show themselves. There could only be one reason for the lack of pursuit, Tavis realized. The brutes no longer saw any reason to risk their lives, which meant they believed they had herded their quarry into a trap.

Confident the ogres would not pursue him into the narrow confines of the side gulch, Tavis paused to look around. This gully was a small one, lined on both sides by sheer cliffs of black-streaked gneiss. Like the ravine from which he and his companions had just come, it was filled with towering pines, though the trees here looked less healthy. They were overcrowded, and the small area prevented them from extending their branches fully. Avner and Basil were still sprinting up the center of the gulch, heedless that it was an ideal place for an ambush.

Not wishing to call out and let the ogres know he had anticipated their trap, Tavis fired his arrow up the gulch. The shaft hissed past Basil's shoulder and lodged in a tree, bringing both the verbeeg and Avner to a halt. They turned around and peered at the scout, their mouths gaping open.

Tavis motioned for them to remain where they were, then put his bow over his shoulder. Next, he took his dagger and opened a lengthy but shallow cut along his forearm. Once the wound began to bleed profusely, he walked up the gulch, dripping blood on the ground as he went.

When the scout reached his companions, Avner looked at him as if he were crazy. "What are you doing?"

"Making it easy for the ogres to follow us," Tavis replied. "After they find this blood trail, they won't pay as much attention to other signs. That'll give us a chance to escape."

"We haven't done that yet?" Basil asked.

"No, we've been forced into a trap," Tavis replied. "Somewhere around a corner ahead, a couple dozen ogres are waiting to shower us with arrows."

The scout allowed his companions to consider this while he studied the surrounding terrain. He spied a series of three boulders close enough together that Avner could leap from one to the other, then said, "Now, here's what I want you to do."

After Tavis had explained his plan, Basil asked. "Do we have time for all that?"

The scout nodded. "The ogres won't be anxious to come after us. They've suffered losses enough to know they won't get past Bear Driller in these confines," he said. "By the time they come to see why we haven't wandered into their ambush, we'll be gone."

The scout started up the gully. Making certain to drip plenty of blood along the ground, he led his companions to within a pace of the first boulder. Instead of jumping onto the stone at this point, Avner and Basil walked past, following Tavis another twenty paces. The boy stopped there, but the verbeeg continued up the gully.

Thirty paces later, Basil also stopped. He slowly backed down the gully, placing his feet in exactly the same places as he had on the way up. When he reached Avner, he hoisted the boy onto his shoulder and continued his retreat to the three boulders Tavis had pointed out earlier. After Avner brushed his feet off, the verbeeg deposited the youth on the first boulder. The boy hopped across the three boulders, then climbed a tree and crawled across a branch onto the cliff top.

For Basil, escaping the gorge was more difficult. Like Avner, he brushed the loose soil off his feet, then crossed the boulders to the side of the gully. Unfortunately, he was too heavy for the pine's thin branches and too clumsy to climb straight up the cliff face, so he had to backtrack a short distance to where a dead tree had fallen against the cliff side. He ascended the gray trunk, then joined Avner.

As his companions made their escape, Tavis picked up a stick, then ripped a strip of cloth off his tunic. These two items he used to make a tourniquet around his arm.

Once that was done, he continued up the gulch, slowly turning the stick so that the blood trail gradually diminished. When he came to a jumble of boulders, he crossed the pile about halfway, then tightened the tourniquet until the blood ceased to drip altogether. After cleaning the bottom of his boots to make certain he did not leave any loose soil to divulge his change of path, he moved toward the side of the gorge, being careful not dislodge any of the stones he walked across.

The scout crept along the base of the cliff until he came to a sickly tree growing too close to the wall. He braced one foot against its trunk and one against the rocky face, then slowly climbed out of the gorge. By the time he reached the top, his tourniquet had loosened and blood was dripping into the canyon, but he did not worry. It would be quite some time before the ogres realized he had laid a false trail, and it would take them even longer to discover how he and his friends had escaped.

Tavis removed the tourniquet and applied a more proper bandage, then scurried down the ridge to join his friends. Together the trio started to traverse the ravine's north side, climbing toward Needle Peak, but the scout quickly realized they could not remain concealed by taking this route. The valley took a sharp turn southward. They could not travel any farther without exposing themselves.

Tavis motioned for his companions to wait. Hunching over until his chest almost touched his knees, he crept down the hillside. He stepped carefully, avoiding dry-looking twigs, loose rocks, even clumps of dry pine needles that might crackle under bis weight. It had been many months since he had moved so slowly in such an awkward position, and his muscles soon began to ache from the strain. The scout ignored his discomfort, knowing that if he relaxed and did something that made a substantial noise, the ogres would hear it.

A few minutes later, he came to a place where the hill fell away sharply, giving him a clear view of the ravine below. He was directly above the bend where the side gulch opened into the main gully. He knelt behind a pair of close-growing saplings, using the dense foliage as a screen, and began to search for ogres.

Tavis saw one warrior immediately, lying facedown on the uphill side of a decomposing log. It took him a little longer to find the others. Although they had not selected their hiding places to camouflage themselves from someone in Tavis's location, the brutes were sitting so motionless that, in their gray cloaks, many of them looked like stumps and boulders.

Even after he had found five warriors, Tavis continued to study the ravine. The ogres' stillness puzzled him. By now the brutes were certainly curious about the silence in the side gulch. They should have been cautiously venturing into the small gully to investigate. Yet here they were, still lurking in ambush, as though the beaters were driving more prey toward them.

After a moment's consideration, Tavis realized why. They had set their trap again-this time for Morten and the earls.

The scout studied the valley below, then decided he had found all the ambushers. He pulled four arrows from his quiver, planting them tip-first into the ground, and nocked a fifth. Normally, he would have set out six shafts for five targets, just in case he missed once, but two of the ogres were standing in line, and he always took advantage of any chance to save arrows.

Tavis peered through the small gap between the saplings he had selected as cover, then took careful aim at a lobeless ear protruding above a small boulder. It was his most difficult target, for not only was it on the other side of the ravine, it was all he could see of the ogre.

Drawing his bowstring back, Tavis exhaled. He stared at the ear, blocking every thought from his mind until he was aware of nothing but his target, then he pulled his fingers away. The string throbbed and sent the arrow sizzling through the air. The shaft skimmed over the rock and struck home with a muffled thud, then both ear and arrow disappeared from sight.

In one swift motion, Tavis pulled the next arrow from the ground, nocked it, and fired at his easiest target, the ogre lying behind the decomposing log. The shaft caught the brute just as he was raising his head, ripping through the back to pierce the warrior's heart.

The scout's next arrow was in the air before the warrior died, catching the third ogre through the head as he rose from behind a juniper bush to gape at the arrow in his companion's back. The fourth and fifth stepped away from their trees, spinning around to search the hillside. Despite the obvious panic in their purple eyes, the brutes remained silent, determined not to alarm the prey their companions would soon be driving up the ravine. That suited Tavis fine. He drew his bowstring back, waited until the ogre in back stepped behind his companion, and loosed the shaft.

Tavis nocked the last arrow he had set out, but there was no need. The shaft passed cleanly through the first ogre's throat, then ripped into the breast of the one behind. This warrior did not die instantly, but with an arrow lodged in his lung, his feeble gurgles would not alarm the beaters driving Morten and the earls up the ravine.

The scout paused just long enough to make certain there were no more ogres lurking below, then returned to his companions and told them what had happened.

"So now we're free to leave?" Basil asked.

Tavis shook his head. "No, Morten and the earls are still coming up the ravine," he said. "If we go now, the ogres may drive them into the ambush yet."

"And if we don't, whoever survives the battle will definitely attack us," Avner objected. "I say we leave our enemies to each other and go while we can."

"Morten and the earls aren't our true enemies," Tavis replied. "They're only doing what they believe to be right. We can't condemn them for that."

"I don't see why not," Avner grumbled. "They condemned us for a lot less."

"We aren't leaving them to the ogres!" Tavis snapped. "Do you understand that?"

Avner met the firbolg's gaze with an angry glare. "I understand."

"Good," Tavis said. "Go down to the ravine and hide until Morten comes."

"Then what?" the youth asked. "Surrender?"

"Make sure he sees you, then lead him away from the side gulch and up the valley," Tavis instructed. "Basil and I will set up an ambush of our own. We'll pull you aside, then I'm sure Basil can do something to temporarily disable Morten and the earls." The scout cast a hopeful glance at the verbeeg.

"I can put them to sleep for a lengthy time," Basil said.

"Good," Tavis replied. "We'll treat the ogres less charitably."

"What? You're not going to spare everyone who's trying to kill us?"

Tavis scowled his reply.

Pulling a sling from inside his tunic, Avner reluctantly started down the hill.

Tavis shook his head in disappointment. "As much as I love that boy, I don't think he'll ever learn."

"He's learned much already, but his teacher was cruel indifference," said Basil. "If it's any consolation, I do believe he loves you more than he loves his own life."

"Perhaps," the scout acknowledged. "But I doubt you could say the same about his love of gold."

With that, the scout started across the hillside, angling toward an outcropping of rocks a short distance up the ravine.

Basil followed a step behind. "Now that we're alone, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

"Can't it wait?" Tavis asked. "This lull in the fighting won't last long."

Basil shook his head. "I don't want to discuss it in front of the boy. Besides, it won't take long," he said quietly. "How much do you know about the Twilight Vale?"

"I never heard of it until Runolf spoke its name."

"That's not surprising." Basil answered. True giants consider it a sacred place. They keep it secret from all but their own kind."

"Then how do you and the ogres know of it?"

"I read about it in a tablet I borrowed from the stone giants," Basil explained. "As for the ogres, they clearly have their own ways. But the reason I raised the subject is what happens in the vale."

"What?"

"The true giants gather there once each year. The chieftains resolve their grievances in peace, the warriors drink from magical springs, and the shamans receive guiding omens from the vale's guardian, the Twilight Spirit," Basil explained. The verbeeg looked away, obviously uncomfortable, then continued. "And they conduct ceremonies of tribal union."

"Union?" Tavis asked.

"Matings between important members of different tribes," the verbeeg explained. "To guarantee good relations."

"That's ridiculous!" Tavis had to restrain himself to keep his voice low. "Brianna would never mate with an ogre!"

Basil ran a hand over his sloped brow. "Her consent wouldn't be necessary, nor did I say it was an ogre she's going to mate," the verbeeg replied. He was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. The Twilight Spirit arranges these unions for the good of all giants. Goboka might be taking her there to see a chief from any tribe."

"A human and a giant?" Tavis scoffed.

"It's no more ridiculous than a cloud giant and hill giant, and I've read of such unions." Basil replied. "The spirit's magic is most powerful."

Tavis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "It still makes no sense," he said. "Ogres aren't true giants, they're giant-kin, like you and me. Why should Goboka care what the Twilight Spirit wants?"

"Goboka is extremely powerful for an ogre shaman, both in magic and political power," the verbeeg explained. "Who do you suppose helped him get that way?"

"The Twilight Spirit," Tavis concluded. "And in return, the spirit received a small and stealthy ally to send after Brianna."

Basil nodded. "There are some tasks giants just can't do-at least not if you want them done quietly."

Tavis sighed, frustrated. "That still doesn't explain why the Twilight Spirit wants Brianna."

Basil scowled in thought. "We already know Goboka foresaw Brianna's birth far in advance. That's why the Twilight Spirit sent the ogres to dupe Camden," the verbeeg said. "Maybe he also saw something that did not bode well for his giants."

The scout nodded. "And Brianna is the key to protecting them," he said. "The question is, what from?"

Basil shrugged. "My magic isn't that powerful," he said. "If you really want to know the future, you'll have to find the Twilight Spirit and ask him."

"I'd rather find Brianna and avoid the Twilight Spirit," Tavis said. "But first, we have some ogres to ambush."

With that, the scout lengthened his stride and did not say another word until they reached the cliff where he intended to ambush the ogres. Basil took out a brush and set to work on his sleeping rune, while Tavis climbed up the hill to keep watch.

When the runecaster finished his symbol, there was still no sign of their quarry, so he climbed up the hill to join Tavis. They waited for several more minutes, and the scout began to fear something terrible had gone wrong with his plan. Then he finally saw Avner coming up the ravine and began to breathe easier. Tavis nodded to Basil, and they both ducked down behind a boulder to wait.

The scout soon realized Morten and his band were not coming. Avner showed no particular concern as he ran through the forest, never looking back to check on the progress of his pursuers. Nor did Tavis detect the sound of any cracking sticks or clanging armor, both of which he would have heard in abundance if the clumsy earls had been rushing up the ravine. He tossed a rock down to catch Avner's attention, then rose and showed himself.

Making no more noise than a good scout would have, the boy climbed the hill to join Tavis. "Morten wouldn't follow me," he reported. "I did everything but sling a rock at him, and he just ignored me."

Tavis was puzzled by the report. Even if Morten suspected a trap, he would have followed the boy long enough to see where he was going.

"Are you sure they saw you?" the scout asked.

Avner nodded. "I was in a tree," he said. "I shook the branch I was sitting on, and he looked right up into my eyes. I jumped down to be sure he knew it was me and not an ogre, then I started running. He never followed."

"Did you see where he went?" Tavis asked. "He didn't take the earls into the side gulch, did he?"

Avner shrugged. "If he did, there's not much we can do for him now." the youth replied. "Let's get out of here before the ogres-"

A distant clunk cut the boy off. The sound was followed by a surprised shout, then more clanging and yelling.

Tavis started toward the sound. "I'm going to help Morten."

"What?" Avner shrieked. "You'll get us killed."

"Not us. You stay here. If I don't come back, hide here."

"You can start back to Hartsvale in the morning."

"So the king can have me arrested?" the youth scoffed. "No way."

"Then go where you please," Tavis snapped. "We don't have time to argue about it now."

The scout sprinted down the hill, his long legs carrying him across the ravine as swiftly as a wolf. Basil followed along, his heavy footfalls only slightly muffled by the thick layer of pine needles covering the ground.

"I welcome your help, Basil," Tavis said. "But maybe you should follow at a slower pace. You won't be much good to anyone if you're too tired to fight."

"And I'm too clumsy to take the ambushers by surprise." The verbeeg smiled at Tavis's diplomacy, then began to fade back. "I'll come as quickly as I can without alarming the ogres."

Tavis continued forward at a sprint, guided by the clanging of armor and the angry battle cries of Morten and his companions. The ogres made no sound at all. So ingrained were their habits of stealth that they usually fought in complete silence, rarely uttering a sound except when they suffered a grievous wound-and sometimes not even then. Soon, as the scout crested the bank of the ravine, he saw the crescent-shaped rim of a box canyon on the slope ahead. Clambering among the boulders and spruces along its brink were almost two dozen ogres, all firing black arrows down into the gulch. From the panicked cries echoing from the hollow, it appeared then shafts were finding targets all too often.

Tavis stopped just outside the range of their bows, then leaned his quiver against his knee. He did not remove any arrows from the case because once his foes realized where he was, he would have to move in a hurry.

As the scout nocked his first shaft, an ogre suddenly clutched his breast and spun around, stumbling away from the canyon. Though the distance was too great for the scout to be certain, it looked like the fletching of a short quarrel was protruding from between the brute's bloody fingers. Apparently, the earls had their crossbows.

Tavis took aim and fired, shooting at the ogres on the far side of the gulch first. His arrows tore through three targets before the pack realized it was being attacked, then he hit two more of the brutes as they tried to figure out where the arrows were coming from. A large warrior in a wolfskin headdress began barking commands. The scout silenced him by ripping his throat open with a well-placed arrow.

The leader's death spurred the war party into reacting. As one, they spun and launched a volley of arrows. Without bothering to hide, Tavis killed another of bis foes before the black shafts fell out of the air, lodging in the ground about fifteen paces short of his position. The scout fired again. His arrow struck home, spinning the victim around so that he fell over the edge into the gulch. Several cheers rose from the hollow, then a flurry of bolts claimed the last few brutes on the far side of the canyon.

Realizing the danger of being caught in a crossfire, the ogres on the near side dived away from the rim, taking shelter behind what cover they could find. There were only ten of them here, and Tavis quickly reduced that number to eight by picking out holes in their cover.

When the sounds of battle continued to rise from inside the gorge, Tavis realized that he had solved only part of the problem by drawing the pack on the brim of the gorge away. The group that had been acting as beaters had followed Morten's party into the gulch, and no doubt still had the men pinned against the cliffs.

That was a problem the bodyguard and his earls would have to handle by themselves. The eight survivors on top of the gulch had gathered their wits enough to begin an assault against Tavis. As the scout watched, they jumped to their feet and rushed forward.

Tavis calmly stood his ground long enough to kill two more, then grabbed his quiver and retreated over the bank of the ravine. Once he was out of sight, he ran along the slope, silently traversing it toward the box canyon for about a hundred paces. Then, when he judged he had moved past the ogres' flank, he climbed the bank and peered over the top.

The scout saw immediately that his maneuver had not fooled the ogres. Two of them were still moving toward where he had jumped over the bank, but the other four were nowhere in sight. They were no doubt lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for him to show himself.

Tavis fired and ducked. He heard a muffled thump as his arrow struck its target, then several of the ambushers' shafts flew over his head. The scout grabbed a rock and threw it across the slope, hoping the sound would convince his enemies he was on the move again. Then he nocked another arrow and stuck his head up, killing the second ogre he had seen earlier.

Two of the unseen warriors returned fire immediately, one of their arrows passing so close that Tavis felt its coarse feather brush his skull. He yelled as though wounded, then drew his sword and laid it on the slope beside him. He heard the ogres' feet pattering over the pine needles as they rushed forward to finish the kill. The scout nocked another arrow and laid the tip over the edge of the bank, not raising his head to look. Runolf had lectured him many times on the importance of using more than his eyes to pick targets, explaining that he would sometimes find himself fighting on cloudy nights or in lightless caves. It was a lesson that Tavis had learned well, and one that had saved his life more than once.

The scout lifted his arrow slightly, as if he were rising to fire. He heard the snap of an ogre's bowstring, then a single shaft sailed overhead and disappeared into the ravine below. Tavis waited, listening to the soft steps of the approaching enemy. When it seemed they had to be almost on him, he turned the tip of the arrow toward the loudest set of footfalls and released the bowstring.

Because of his awkward firing position, the shot was not particularly powerful, but it had force enough to create a moist thump as it sank into an ogre's abdomen. The target collapsed to the ground with a muffled thud.

The footsteps of the victim's companions faltered. Tavis dropped his bow, then pushed the tip of another arrow above the bank. This time, the action drew the fire of two alarmed ogres. Smiling at their skittish reactions, the scout grabbed his sword and clambered over the bank. He found himself two paces away from the three surviving ogres. One was just drawing his bowstring back to fire, and the others were frantically trying to nock fresh arrows.

Tavis twisted sideways, pushing his sword arm forward and also moving his torso out of the arrow's path. The tip of his blade slipped between the ogre's ribs in the same instant the brute released his bowstring. The poisoned arrow sizzled past the scout's breast. He lunged forward, driving his sword deeper, until foul-smelling blood began to froth from the ogre's mouth.

Tavis stepped back and braced one foot on the warrior's hip, jerking his sword free of the dying brute. He spun around to face the last two survivors-only to discover they had nocked their arrows and were even now drawing their bowstrings to fire. The scout could kill one of them, but the other one would slay him.

"Tavis!" screamed Avner's voice. A small stone came whispering through the air and struck one ogre in the head. The blow did not kill the warrior, but it stunned him enough to prevent the brute from completing the pull of his bowstring. "What are you doing?"

Tavis started to slash at the other ogre, but even as the young thief spoke, a huge boulder arced down upon this brute's head. The stone struck with a crack, then thumped to the ground. The warrior's knees buckled, and he released his arrow into the air. The scout spun, using a backhand stroke to behead the ogre Avner's stone had stunned.

"When I said go on ahead, I didn't mean you should kill all the ogres yourself." Basil dropped a second boulder he had picked up, then walked over with Avner at his side.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," Avner complained.

"I thought J told you to stay at the cliff," Tavis said.

"Lucky for you I don't listen too well," the boy countered.

Realizing he could hardly argue with the statement, Tavis retrieved his bow and quiver, then turned toward the gulch. The sounds of fighting had grown faint and sporadic, suggesting that the battle was almost at an end. Fearing that he knew who was on the losing side, the scout rushed over to the gorge's rim.

The battle had come down to only five figures: Morten, Earl Dobbin, and three ogres. The firbolg was standing directly between two of their foes, swinging a huge, double-headed battle-axe first at one, then the other. The ogres had picked up a pair of fallen earls to use as shields, but were rapidly falling back under the bodyguard's withering attacks.

Earl Dobbin was not faring so well. He had collapsed to one knee and was swinging his pitifully small sword at the last ogre's legs, barely managing to duck the wild swings of his foe's large club. The other earls lay scattered among fallen ogres, either dead or unconscious from the bite of poisoned arrows.

Tavis dispatched the ogre attacking Earl Dobbin first, then quickly killed one of the brutes fighting Morten. The bodyguard finished the other himself, cleaving the warrior's heavy skull with a single, terrible blow of his battle-axe.

The ogre had hardly hit the ground before Morten was glaring up at his savior. "Tavis!" he thundered.

"Come down here!"

The scout shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Not until you and I come to an agreement."

Morten snorted. "The only thing I'll agree to is splitting your head."

"Really?" Tavis replied. "I should think you'd be more interested in saving Brianna-I am."

This calmed the angry firbolg a little. "Tell me where she is," he demanded. "I'll make your death an easy one."

Earl Dobbin rose, his face red with fury. "You don't have the right to make such an agreement!" he said, grabbing the bodyguard's burly arm. "The king sent us to bring these thieves back to Hartsvale, not to rescue his daughter!"

Morten jerked his arm free. "Brianna was my responsibility. If I can save her by letting a few thieves die an easy death, then so be it." The firbolg continued to glare at Tavis. "Now tell me."

"Right now, the princess is somewhere on the Needle Peak glacier with about a thousand ogres," Tavis explained. As he spoke. Basil and Avner came up to stand at his side. "They're taking her to a place called the Twilight Vale."

Morten scowled. "Where's that?"

"The Twilight Vale lies somewhere in the shadow of the Great Glacier, far north of the Ice Spires," Basil explained. "But if you want to return Brianna to Hartsvale, I'd suggest you free her long before then."

Morten narrowed his eyes. "Why's that?"

"The Twilight Vale's sacred to the giants," Tavis explained. "We don't know why the ogres are taking Brianna there, but if they succeed it'll be impossible to get her back."

Morten considered this for a moment, then asked, "Where'd you learn all this?"

"We happened upon the guide who helped the ogres kidnap Brianna," Tavis explained. "Basil interrogated him."

The scout said nothing about the roles of Runolf and the king in the princess's abduction. As much as Morten wanted to save Brianna, Tavis did not think the bodyguard would defy Camden's wishes to do so.

Morten considered Tavis's information for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. "Good enough. I'll make your death quick," he said. "Now, will you come down here peacefully, or do I have to hunt you down?"

"I'll let you take me back to Hartsvale or kill me on the spot,"Tavis offered, "but only after we rescue Brianna."

Basil quickly stepped forward. "Please understand that he's speaking only for himself," the verbeeg said. "Avner and I have no intention of letting you kill us at any time."

"Doesn't matter," Morten replied, shaking his head. "I couldn't accept Tavis's deal, even if it included you all."

The scout frowned. "Why not?"

The bodyguard snorted in derision, then waved his hand at the carnage in the gulch. "You let me lead eighteen good men into this, and now you expect me to place my faith in you?"

"Let you!" Tavis exploded. "We tried to stop you. If you had followed the boy, you'd all be alive and well."

Morten frowned in confusion. "What boy?" he asked. "We never saw any boy!"

"You didn't see Avner at the mouth of the gulch? He dropped out of a tree and ran up the ravine!"

Morten shook his head. "We saw nothing but bodies and a blood trail leading up here. We were afraid the ogres had trapped you here. There was no boy."

His head reeling with the implications of what the bodyguard had just told him, Tavis stumbled back from the edge of the gulch. He spun around and found Avner slowly backing away. The boy's face was pale with fear, and tears of shame were welling in his eyes.

"You lied," Tavis said. His voice was not as angry as it was astonished and hurt. "You lied to me."