The Giant Among Us

17

From the keep roof, the battle seemed a thing as murky and frenzied as the queen’s whirling thoughts. To the east, fifty men stood on the ramparts of the inner curtain, hurling boulders and flaming oil down on a long file of cone-shaped helmets, all Brianna could see of the frost giants fighting toward the castle’s rear bailey. To the west, dozens of hill giant rafts were burning out on the lake, pouring so much smoke through the battered remnants of the outer curtain that the outer ward had disappeared beneath an unfathomable sea of gray fume.

The queen hardly had a better view of the ramparts themselves. Pools of burning oil were steadily creeping down the walkways and dribbling into the inner ward, filling the air with clouds of dark, greasy smoke that permitted only intermittent views of the debris-choked ramparts. When Brianna did catch a glimpse of the walls, she saw corpses and wounded lying everywhere, trapped beneath the rubble of shattered merlons or strewn among the splinters of smashed ballistae.

The queen’s shoulders slumped under a guilty weight. She ached to send the keep guard down to help the men on the walls, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. The battle was already lost, and committing her last reserves would make the giants’ final victory only easier. It would be better to wait here and make the enemy attack the keep’s formidable defenses. The small company would never hold, of course, but more giants would fall. Brianna owed her soldiers that much.

A short distance from the rear corner tower, two plumes of smoke temporarily drifted apart, revealing Arlien’s armored form striding along the ramparts. Several paces in front him stood Brianna’s battered bodyguard. The firbolg still wore her ice diamonds, but he was now armed with a shield and battle axe. A cold queasiness filled the queen’s stomach, and she found her hand drifting toward her bare throat.

Brianna heard someone approaching from the center of the roof, then Avner cried, “What’s Tavis doing down there? He’s in no condition to fight!”

The hole in the smoke closed as quickly as it had opened, once again concealing the two warriors. Brianna turned her attention to Avner. The boy was holding a silver chalice and the flagon from which Prince Arlien had poured his concoctions.

“What are you doing with that?” she demanded.

“You have to drink this.” Avner filled the chalice, then raised it toward her. “It’ll make you feel better.”

The familiar odor of fruit and spice pervaded the queen’s nostrils. Her stomach began to churn, and she felt an irrational sense of dread building within her breast. Brianna raised her hands to ward off the proffered cup.

“Take it away,” she said. “It clouds my head.”

“Not this time, it won’t.” The boy turned the chalice around, displaying a painted rune. “Basil said the prince has been using a love potion on you. Drinking out of this cup will reverse the effects.”

Brianna narrowed her eyes. “Basil’s in the dungeon.”

“Basil was in the dungeon,” Avner corrected. “But right now, he’s trying to catch Tavis so you can heal him.”

“Avner, I’ve tried,” Brianna said. “I can’t.”

“Drink this, and you can,” the youth countered. “Trust me.”

Brianna made no move to take the goblet. “Trust you?” she scoffed. “Aren’t you the same boy I caught stealing Cuthbert’s folios? And who sneaked off rather than face his punishment?”

Avner continued to hold the goblet. “You’re not drinking this for me, or even for Tavis,” he said. “You’re drinking it for Hiatea.”

“For Hiatea?” Brianna asked.

“It’ll clear your mind.” Avner took her arm with his free hand, then slipped the chalice into her grasp. “So you can find her again. You’ll remember your spells.”

Brianna bit her lip, glaring down at the youth. “Avner, if this is some kind of trick-”

“It isn’t”

Brianna raised the cup and nearly gagged on the cloying smell. Wondering how she could have once thought that the stuff tasted good, the queen tipped her head back and let the syrup run down her throat. The libation scalded like overheated milk, settling into her stomach with all the appeal of a greasy pudding. She suddenly felt flushed, her head spinning and feverish. The queen tossed the empty chalice aside and braced herself on Avner’s shoulder.

“By the Huntress, that was awful!” she croaked. “I hope that’s a good sign.”

“What’s your bodyguard’s name?” the youth demanded.

Brianna scowled. “Are you going to start…?” Suddenly, the name came to her, burning through the haze inside her head like the bright, searing sun. “Tavis! His name is Tavis Burdun!”

“How do you feel about him?” the boy pressed.

“I love him!” She gasped. A chain of familiar feelings rushed over the queen, sweeping the muddling fog of Arlien’s potion from her mind. She remembered all that Tavis was to her: loyal comrade and fearless protector, her only trusted confidant, the man with whom she ached to share her bed. “Hiatea help me! What have I done?”

Tavis’s arms ached from the strain of keeping his heavy shield raised and his battle axe cocked. The thickening smoke filled his throat with a bitter, acrid burning that made it increasingly difficult to breathe. Nevertheless, the scout stood fast. Combats between opponents of skill were won more often by wit than strength, and the advantage seldom went to he who committed first.

Finally, when the smoke had grown so dense that Arlien’s armored form was beginning to take on a wraithlike appearance, the prince circled toward Tavis’s flank. The scout pivoted back toward the tower, simultaneously keeping his chest toward his enemy and his body between his foe and the path to Brianna.

Arlien stopped behind a crippled ballista, then suddenly thrust a foot into the stock. The kick landed with a giant’s incredible power, swinging the entire weapon around so that the windlass arced straight toward Tavis’s knees. The prince charged in the same instant, his hammer flashing toward the firbolg’s head.

The scout dropped to a crouch, lowering his shield to protect his knee. Arlien’s hammer sailed past above his head, then the windlass slammed home. Although Tavis had braced himself for the impact, the blow nearly knocked him off his feet. He launched himself upward, transferring the momentum into his own attack as he swung his battle axe at the prince’s unarmored armpit.

Arlien’s hammer flashed down to block. Tavis’s weapon clanged against the shaft and stopped dead, a mere finger’s breadth from its target The firbolg tried to pull back for another blow, but the prince’s free hand shot out and grabbed his weapon arm. The scout swung his other arm low, driving the edge of his shield into his foe’s armored knee.

The steel joint buckled-slightly.

Arlien jerked Tavis up and swung his hammer. Tavis twisted sideways, at the same time bringing his shield around to protect his head. The prince’s blow landed with a resounding boom, denting the steel shield and driving the firbolg’s clenched fist into his own cheek.

Tavis countered instantly, leveling his shield and driving the bottom point into the seam between the prince’s chinpiece and gorget. Arlien’s head snapped back. A strangled gurgle echoed from behind his visor, and he staggered back. When the scout cocked his arm to repeat the strike, the prince flung him away. He flew through the air as though he were a sprite instead of a firbolg.

Tavis felt his heart beat seven times before he finally crashed into a merlon. He dropped to the rampart beside the groaning remains of one of Cuthbert’s soldiers, then instantly rolled to his knees. Anticipating his foe’s next attack, he raised his shield and set it at a steep angle. The scout did not even see Arlien’s hammer when it struck. He simply heard an ear-rending crack and felt his shield arm go limp.

The enchanted hammer started to circle back over Tavis’s head, but the scout was already swinging at it. He felt a sharp jolt as the shaft of his battle axe struck the magic weapon and sent it sailing over the inner ward.

The scout breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it would have been impossible to dodge the thing many more times. He tried to move his numb arm and discovered that it would not respond. He pushed his battered shield off the useless limb, then grasped his battle axe and stood.

Tavis saw Arlien standing at the edge of the rampart, one arm stretched over the inner ward in the direction his hammer had flown. In the thick smoke, the scout could not see the weapon, but he suspected it would be floating back to the prince’s hand.

The rampart shuddered as some part of the inner curtain gave way under the constant barrage of hill giant boulders. For the first time since joining combat with Arlien, Tavis grew cognizant of the battle around him, and he realized he was the only one of Brianna’s men still standing along this section of wall. Everyone else was dead, wounded, or gone.

The scout turned and scrambled toward the corner tower. It was time to seek a more defensible position.

Basil rushed out of the bridge tower as rapidly as his flat feet would carry him. He expected the trembling rampart to crumble beneath him at any moment When the runecaster reached the corner tower, he pulled the oaken door open and squeezed through the cramped corridor at a dead run. In the main chamber, he found close to a dozen soldiers-Cuthbert’s and Brianna’s-furiously cranking their crossbow strings back.

The verbeeg went to the nearest one and jerked the weapon from the warrior’s hands. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed this,” he said, pulling the string over the trigger with his bare hands. He took a javelin-sized quarrel from the man’s quiver and slipped it into the firing groove. “I shall only need it a moment. I’m sure the angle will be much better here than it was in the bridge tower.”

Before the astonished soldier could reply, the verbeeg rushed to an arrow loop and peered into the rear bailey. He saw a throng of frost giants directly below. Most were beating the flats of their huge axe blades against the inner curtain, but a single giant, a one-eyed fellow with dozens of yellow tattoos on his bald head, was using the dismembered trunk of a mammoth to spray a powerful stream of water into the crevices his companions were opening in the wall.

The runecaster needed no introductions to know the bald giant was a shaman, nor any explanations to realize why he was spraying water into the cracks. When water freezes, it expands, and if it happens to be inside a stone, the stone crumbles.

Basil aimed the crossbow at the shaman’s bald head and pulled the trigger. The bolt hissed away, planting itself deep in the target’s temple. A dark trickle appeared beneath the wound. The frost giant collapsed without even crying out.

The verbeeg stepped away from the arrow loop. “That’ll buy us a few more minutes.” He returned the crossbow to the man from whom he had taken it, then asked, “Now, can anyone tell me where Tavis has gotten to?”

“I’m right here,” called the scout. He came limping into the room from the far corridor, one arm hanging useless at his side and looking more like a tattered beggar than the queen’s bodyguard. If the scout was surprised to see the runecaster, he was too weary to show it. He went directly to the soldiers in the center of the room. “You men, turn your weapons around.”

The men raised their brows. “But the frost giants-”

“Are not nearly as dangerous as Arlien, who’ll be coming in that door at any moment.” The scout pointed down the corridor through which he had just come. “We’ll set an ambush here.”

“It won’t do any good,” said Basil, crossing to the scout “Arlien’s armor was made by the Twilight Spirit himself. I doubt very much that you can kill him while he’s wearing it, and certainly not in your current condition.”

“I’ve got to try,” Tavis said.

“Then try after you’ve been healed,” Basil said. “I painted a rune for the queen. By now, she should be free of her affliction.”

Tavis raised his brow. “She can cast spells?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Basil grabbed the scout’s good arm and dragged him toward the door. “She’ll be waiting for you in the temple.”

Tavis shook his head. “It’s no good,” he said. “Arlien’s right behind me.”

Basil took a runebrush from inside his tunic. “You can’t stop Arlien, but I can slow him down.” The verbeeg continued to pull the scout along. “Leave him to me.”

Tavis did not resist. “Are you sure about this?”

“No,” Basil admitted. “But it’s the best chance we have.”

A tremendous crash echoed from the corridor by which Tavis had entered, and Basil heard a heavy plank crack. At most, the door would last two more blows.

“You men, go upstairs!” Tavis motioned the soldiers toward the stairway.

Basil wrapped his arm around the scout and half-carried him down the corridor. Once they were outside, the verbeeg kicked the door shut and slashed his runebrush across the oaken panels. Although he had not dipped the bristles in any sort of paint, a glowing green line appeared beneath the tip. He traced a total of three squiggly lines, creating what looked like a pair of waves bisected by a crooked lance, then took the scout to the middle of the rampart.

“Go on.” Basil shoved the scout toward the bridge tower, then kneeled on the walkway. “I’ll see you in the keep.”

The entire rampart was still reverberating from the blows of the frost giants.

“Don’t tarry,” Tavis warned, following the runecaster’s instructions. “Arlien’s as efficient a killer as he is ruthless.”

“He’s certainly had long enough to learn the art,” Basil replied, clearing the dirt away from a small section of stone.

A loud thump reverberated from the door Basil had sealed. “By the titan!” came Arlien’s muffled voice. “I’ll feed your heart to one of my ettins, Tavis Burdun!”

The threat was followed by the pounding of the prince’s hammer against the other side of the door. Instead of splitting, the oaken planks merely bowed and flexed back into their original position. Basil smiled and touched his brush to the walkway.

The runecaster found his task more difficult than anticipated. The rampart shuddered constantly, making it impossible to draw a straight line. He found it necessary to retrace each stroke several times, and even then the rune had the thick, squiggly appearance of an amateur. It would hardly be one of his most powerful spells, but with a little luck, it would delay the ettin long enough for Brianna to heal Tavis.

A tremendous clatter arose from the corner tower. Basil looked up and saw the door he had sealed disintegrating beneath the impact of Arlien’s hammer. Judging that he had time for one last stroke, the verbeeg laid his brush on its side and began to drag it lightly over the rune. Wherever the stem touched, the glowing symbol vanished from sight.

Before Basil had finished, an ominous rumble reverberated from deep within the curtain. The entire rampart began to shudder violently. A long series of pops and crackles echoed up from the sides of the wall, followed by the clatter of falling stone. The verbeeg jumped up, leaving his final stroke half finished. If the wall was collapsing, it was because of the frost giants’ hammering, not his rune.

The door to the corner tower crashed down, and Arlien stepped out onto the rampart His visor instantly tipped toward the half-concealed rune at Basil’s feet.

“No!” Arlien yelled, apparently mistaking the verbeeg’s sigil for the cause of the collapse. The prince hurled his hammer and rushed forward.

Basil spun away and threw himself down. He heard the hammer whoop by over his head, then saw the walkway crumbling. He heard Arlien scream, but the ear-splitting roar of the wall’s collapse quickly drowned out the prince’s angry cry. A boiling cloud of dust billowed up beneath him, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of rock and mortar.

Brianna kneeled before the altar. Somewhere outside, the frost giants were already pounding at the keep’s thick foundations, but the queen did not notice the floor trembling beneath her knees, or hear the mighty booms reverberating through the stone walls. She knew only the burning spear before her. She saw only its dancing light, smelled only its sweet smoke, harkened only the crackle of its orange flame. She had returned to Hiatea, and now she felt only the heat of her goddess’s power, coursing like fire through her veins.

“Your Majesty?” The voice came from a long way off, but it was a familiar one-and a welcome one. “Milady?”

Brianna returned instantly to the battle-torn world of Cuthbert Castle. “Tavis!” She leaped to her feet and spun around, repeating his name just to prove she could: “Tavis Burdun!”

“It’s good to see you’re feeling better, Milady.”

Tavis was propped between two Winter Wolves. Apparently they had more or less carried him into the temple, for both men had one arm around his waist and were panting heavily. Despite their fatigue, they had also dragged their heavy crossbows and quivers up the stairs. Clearly, they did not think any place in the keep was safe-at least not for long.

Tavis looked awful. One dislocated shoulder sagged from its socket at an impossible angle, while the glaze in his eyes suggested he might collapse from sheer exhaustion at any moment. He had fresh cuts across old ones, bruises atop lumps, and burn blisters rising from scorched flesh. His feet looked even more hideous than the rest of him, with black, swollen flesh bulging over his boot ankles.

Brianna went straight over to him. She wrapped him in her arms and kissed him squarely on his cracked lips, ignoring the raised eyebrows of his two escorts.

Tavis pulled away.

“Please, Milady!” the scout said. He cocked an ear toward the battle clamor roaring through the window. “We must hurry. The frost giants will break through at any moment. And I doubt we’ve seen the last of Prince Arlien.”

A cold, frightening ache filled Brianna’s chest-and not because the scout had mentioned Arlien. She remembered what had happened that awful night he had come to her in this temple, at least until he had overpowered her and poured his vile potion down her throat, and the next time she saw the prince it would be he who regretted the meeting. What scared the queen now was Tavis, or more accurately, the aloofness she sensed in his voice.

Brianna stepped back. “I don’t care about the giants or Arlien,” she said. “If I’ve lost you, I’d rather they take me.”

Tavis frowned, considering. Finally, he said, “You haven’t lost me. I’m still your bodyguard.”

Brianna shook her head. “You’re much more than that to me-and to the kingdom,” she said. “I owe you an apology.”

The scout shook his head. “What happened with Arlien wasn’t your fault,” he said. “The magic-”

“I’m talking about what happened before I drank the potion,” Brianna said. “I was wrong to insist that we keep our love secret.”

“No, you were right,” Tavis said. “We have to think of Hartsvale.”

“I am thinking of Hartsvale,” Brianna said. “If I’m afraid to act on my true feelings, then I’m not strong enough to rule this kingdom or any other. There will always be someone like Prince Arlien, shrewd enough and unscrupulous enough to pry at the seam between appearances and reality.”

The keep shuddered under some terrific blow, like a man about to fall unconscious. A booming clatter echoed up the stairway. The floor joists creaked plaintively, and an entire corner of the room suddenly sank.

Avner stepped away from the altar, where he had been waiting, and came to Brianna’s side. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else.”

The queen shook her head. “No. My spells will be more powerful here.”

“Then let’s get to the healing.” The boy eyed the sagging corner, then grabbed Tavis’s wrist and started forward. “I’m kind of in a hurry to get out of here.”

Tavis raised an eyebrow. “And go where?”

“The secret tunnels,” the youth said. “There are more beneath this castle than Cuthbert has admitted. Basil and I saw him running for one in the dungeon tower. I think it-”

“You’re getting ahead of us, Avner,” Brianna interrupted, following the boy to the front of the room. “Before we worry about our escape, we have to mend Tavis.”

Brianna slipped the bow and quiver off Tavis’s dislocated shoulder, noting that the golden arrow still remained in its special pocket. Next, as Avner tugged the boots off the firbolg’s swollen feet, she removed his cloak and what remained of the singed clothes underneath. Finally, she unclasped the necklace of ice diamonds hanging around his neck and pitched them through the window into the maelstrom outside.

“I don’t ever want to see an ice diamond again.” Brianna gently pushed the scout onto his back. “I’m sure Hiatea’s magic will work much better without them near.”

Brianna and Avner had already made all the necessary preparations. She picked up the bucket they had placed beside the altar earlier, then poured the contents over the firbolg’s body. His spirit had been cleansed earlier in the day, so the water frothed and bubbled for only a moment before she was ready to begin the actual healing.

A fierce bang resounded in the stairwell outside the room, followed by the rattle of stones tumbling down steps. The youngest Winter Wolf stuck his head out the door to see what was happening. When he turned back to Brianna, there were beads of sweat on his upper lip.

“Milady, we’d better go.”

“Not now,” Brianna said. She was dusting Tavis’s feet with powdered brimstone.

“But the giants have knocked a hole-”

“Quiet!”

As Brianna laid her goddess’s amulet on Tavis’s ankle, the scout looked over at the two soldiers. “Keep the giants away from the stairs. We’ll need them to get out of here,” he ordered. “Use the hole as an arrow loop.”

“As you command, Milord,” said the second Winter Wolf, older than his companion. “We’ll wait for you on the stairs.”

With that, the two soldiers clambered out of the room.

Brianna smiled at Tavis, then said, “This is going to hurt”

The scout winced, but nodded.

Brianna uttered the mystic syllables to her spell. The flames on her amulet began to dance and glow, first red, then orange and yellow. When they turned white, the brimstone powder ignited in a single brilliant flash. A golden fire danced over the scout’s feet, filling the air with wisps of black smoke. A long hiss of pain slipped from Tavis’s clenched teeth, but his frost-blackened flesh returned to its normal color and the swelling subsided. When Hiatea’s healing fires finally died, the firbolg’s feet looked more or less normal. The skin was still slightly gray and there was a little puffiness around the toes, but it looked as though he would be able to run.

The clack of firing crossbows echoed up the stairwell. A giant’s scream rolled through the temple window, then the veteran began yelling, “Reload, reload, reload!”

Brianna sprinkled more brimstone powder on the scout’s scorched flesh, covering him with a fine yellow coating from his ankles to his chin. She cast her next healing spell. As it had before, the powder ignited in a white flash, spreading yellow fire over Tavis’s body. The scout let out a long groan. When the golden flames died away, he looked as though he had suffered a bad sunburn, but the blisters and ugly patches of scorched hide had vanished.

A crash reverberated up of the stairwell, and the young soldier cried out. The floor joists crackled and groaned, dropping the corner of the room another two feet, and a long crack shot across the temple ceiling.

“I think we’re out of time.” Avner’s gaze was fixed on the widening gap over their heads.

“I have one more spell to cast.” Brianna motioned the boy toward Tavis’s head, then grabbed the arm of the scout’s dislocated shoulder. “Hold him steady.”

Avner kneeled beside the bench and wrapped his arms around Tavis’s collar.

The scout looked up at Brianna. “This is really going to hurt, isn’t it?”

Brianna smiled reassuringly. “What makes you say that?”

As she spoke, the queen gave a sharp tug on the scout’s arm. The shoulder slipped back into its socket with a sickening pop, and the scout yelled in pain. Brianna laid her amulet over the joint, but did not sprinkle any brimstone powder on it.

The queen uttered her incantation. Hiatea’s spear turned white, and its golden flames danced over the firbolg’s skin. The magical fire continued to flicker for several moments, its mending heat sinking deep into Tavis’s flesh to strengthen the weakened tendons and muscles. When the flames finally died away, Brianna took her amulet off the firbolg’s shoulder, leaving a spear-shaped brand where it had lain.

“Now can we go?” Avner demanded.

A thunderous boom shook the keep, and pieces of rock began to drop through the crack in the ceiling. The two soldiers in the stairwell remained ominously silent.

“I think we’d better.” Tavis rose and slipped his cloak over his shoulders, then swung his arm in a circle to test its mobility. He smiled and grabbed his bow and quiver, saying, “My thanks, Majesty. I’ll go first”

Stopping only to pick up her satchel of spell components, the queen followed Avner and Tavis out of the temple. They found the stairway half blocked by rubble. It sagged toward a large hole in the wall. There was no sign of what had happened to the older soldier, but the young one lay dead at the edge of the breach, one arm stretched into the void. Through the gap came a few wisps of acrid black smoke and the steady din of the giants pounding at the keep foundations. When Brianna looked out the hole, she could see two frost giants and several hill giants clambering over the rubble of the inner curtain.

Tavis started down the stairs, staying close to the interior wall. Avner followed close behind, with Brianna bringing up the rear. They were about halfway to the breach when the ivory-colored hand of a frost giant appeared in the hole, feeling around for a hand grip.

Tavis stopped and looked back at Brianna. “Let me have your hand-axe,” he whispered.

The queen slipped the silver-plated weapon off her belt and passed it over Avner’s head. As the scout descended the stairs, she took Hiatea’s amulet between her fingers, hoping she would not need to cast another healing spell soon.

The giant turned his hand sideways and wrapped his fingers over the edge of the gap. The jagged stub of a wrist came through the hole and pressed against the other side of the breach. A thin layer of red, delicate hide had already formed over the bone, with a series of crooked seams where a shaman had stitched the skin closed.

“Hagamil!” Tavis hissed.

The scout reached the breach and swung Brianna’s axe at the good hand. The blade bit deeply into the joint of the middle finger. The blow elicited a thunderous bellow of pain, but the giant did not lose his grip. He swung his other arm across, smashing the stub of his wrist against Tavis’s flank. The firbolg bounced off the wall and fell on the stairs.

The giant’s head rose into view. The brute had piercing blue eyes, with a full face, long yellow hair, and a thick beard. To Brianna’s astonishment, the end of an iron crossbow bolt protruded from one of his temples. There was no blood or any sign of an entrance wound. The dart was simply there, as though it were a part of his head.

As the scout scrambled to his feet, the frost giant squinted at him through the shattered wall. “Tavis Burdun!” he growled. Hagamil looked past the scout to Brianna, then turned to yell over his shoulder, “Hey, Julien! Here they are! Both of ’em!”

Tavis moved forward to attack again, but Hagamil quickly brought the stub of his wrist around. The scout stopped a few feet short of the giant’s reach.

A muffled crash rumbled up from somewhere lower down in the keep. The staircase trembled, then a series of hairline cracks appeared in the steps between Brianna and her bodyguard.

“Tavis, maybe Brianna ought to handle this,” said Avner, stepping back toward the queen. “You’re about to go down the fast way!”

As the youth spoke, Brianna extended her arm, pointing the tip of her spear amulet at the iron bolt protruding from the giant’s temple. Tavis looked down at the cracks widening beneath his feet, then turned and rushed up the stairs toward the queen.

Brianna spoke her incantation. Yelling in alarm, Hagamil turned to leap off the tower. He was too late. A bolt of lightning sizzled from the queen’s talisman straight to the iron quarrel in his temple. It struck with a thunderous crackle, then the giant fell out of sight, leaving only a puff of pink-tinged smoke where his head had been a moment before.

Brianna felt Tavis grab her arm and pull her up the stairs. She looked down and saw the step in front of her falling away. The lower half of the stairway was tumbling into the inner ward.

“Come on,” Tavis said. “That was Arlien that Hagamil called to. He’ll be coming any minute. We’ve got to get ready.”

“Ready?” Brianna asked, her stomach knotting with apprehension at the thought of facing the prince again. “Then you have a plan?”

“It’s a little rough, but I think it’ll work,” he said, starting up the stairway. “I’ll explain it to you as soon as we find a good place to make a stand.”

Brianna turned to follow, nearly falling as the step beneath her lower foot cracked loose. It dropped more than three stories into the rubble below.

“A good place to make a stand?” she gasped. “Where do you think we’re going to find that in all this havoc?”

The answer came from the temple door, where Avner stood looking toward the front of the chamber. “It may have to be right here,” he said. “We seem to be surrounded.”