The Giant Among Us

6

Tavis crested the canyon headwall. Ahead of him lay an undulating meadow of alpine tundra, traversed by ribs of gray bedrock and partially enclosed by a jagged wall of peaks. A single granite pinnacle stood forward from the rest, tipped slightly outward like an ogre’s snaggled fang. It could be only Wyvern’s Eyrie.

Near the bottom of the spire, perhaps a hundred feet off the ground, a lone stone giant was creeping across a narrow rock shelf. From across the emerald meadow, the brute looked like a tiny spider, pulling himself forward one limb at a time. Ahead of him, seven smaller specks, undoubtedly humans, were scurrying around the shoulder of the mountain. It seemed apparent that their pursuer would catch them long before they reached the narrow pass at the end of the ledge.

Tavis snatched a runearrow from his quiver and started toward the pinnacle at a trot. The firbolg kept a careful watch on the meadow around him, keenly aware that a second stone giant could be lurking behind any of the ridges ahead. At the demolished farm the scout had found two pairs of giant tracks, and both sets had led up the canyon into the vale ahead.

As the scout crossed the meadow, Wyvern’s Eyrie and everything on it grew more distinct. He saw that the ledge was really a series of broken rock lips linked together by graying logs. The giant’s heels hung over the edge of the narrow shelf, forcing the brute to keep his face pressed to the cliff. Tavis could even tell that the party of humans consisted of four women, two little girls, and a brawny shepherd boy armed with a long pitchfork. The youth kept looking back toward the giant as though aching for a fight he had little hope of winning.

One of the women pointed at Tavis, and the whole procession stopped to look.

“Keep going!” Tavis yelled, continuing to run.

Had there not been a chill wind blowing down from the peaks, the farmers might have heard the firbolg’s resonant voice. As it was, however, they stood on the ledge, watching Tavis while the giant crept closer. The scout broke stride long enough to wave them on, but still they waited. When he scrambled up the first of the bedrock ridges traversing the meadow, two of the women pointed to the third crag ahead.

“Be… watch… giant!”

Tavis could barely hear their shrill voices coming to him on the wind. He waved in acknowledgment, and the farmers turned away to continue their escape. The giant behind them slid across the ledge, coming within three arm-lengths of the shepherd boy. The scout considered stopping to shoot now, but at three hundred paces he was barely inside Bear Driller’s range. Given the runearrow’s heavy tip and the contrary wind, he had no reasonable chance of making the shot.

Tavis continued forward at his best sprint, angling away from the ambush the farmers had warned him about He glanced up at the ledge every third step. The giant drew to within two arm-lengths of the boy, and then one. The youth stopped on a log bridge and raised his pitchfork, and that was when Tavis realized accuracy was not as important as he had thought

“No!” the scout boomed, yelling so hard that his throat went raw. He scrambled up the next rocky bluff. “Keep going!”

The youth glanced down, and the giant made a grab for him. The boy ducked, then thrust his pitchfork at his attacker’s huge hand. The wooden tines snapped, and a grim chuckle echoed down from the mountain. The youth slipped back a step, then hurled the useless weapon at his foe. The giant let the stick bounce off his head and slid one foot onto the bridge. The boy turned to flee.

“That’s right,” Tavis whispered. He nocked his runearrow and drew his bowstring to fire. “Get off the bridge.”

The second stone giant rose from behind the ridge ahead and bounded across the meadow, trying to slip between Tavis and his target. The scout kept his gaze trained on Wyvern’s Eyrie, silently beseeching the youth to hurry. His entreaties did no good. He found himself looking into a pair of huge black eyes long before the boy reached the end of the bridge.

“It would be better not to do that.” The giant’s voice was as deep and gravelly as a pit mine. He stooped over, lowering his palm toward Tavis. “Why not give me your toy?”

The scout side-stepped the colossal hand and let his runearrow fly. He saw the shaft sizzle straight toward the bridge, then the giant blocked his view by trying to squash him with a boulderlike fist.

Tavis leaped backward off the bluff, screaming, “Basil is wise!”

If the runearrow exploded, the scout did not hear it. He slammed into a boulder and felt Bear Driller slip from his grasp. His attacker’s fist crashed down on the ridge above, sending a deafening crack across the meadow and spraying shards of bedrock in every direction. The giant twisted his fist back and forth, as a man might grind a fly into the table, and did not seem to notice that his quarry had escaped.

Tavis tried to crawl away, only to discover that he had fallen between two boulders and become lodged in place. He reached past his head to grab a handhold. As he dragged himself free, a jagged knob of stone opened a deep gash in his back. The scout swallowed his pain and continued to pull, his teeth clenched to keep from crying out.

The movement drew the stone giant’s attention. The brute’s rigid face showed no emotion, but he quickly lifted his hand and peered at the crater beneath it.

“Missed,” he observed in a dispassionate voice.

The giant leaned over the bluff to reach for his prey, but could not quite make the stretch. He pulled back and stooped over behind the ridge.

Tavis leaped to his feet and started toward Bear Driller. A huge boulder crashed onto the tundra in front of him. He looked up and saw the giant clambering over the bluff, a second stone in his hand. The scout feinted a dash toward his bow. The stone giant’s arm came forward, but the brute checked his throw.

“It is written that you are a guileful one,” the giant observed.

“Written?” Tavis echoed. He kept his knees flexed, ready to dive for his bow the instant the giant made the mistake of committing to an attack. “Where?”

“In the Chronicles of Stone.” The giant’s gaze flickered to Bear Driller and back to Tavis, and he wisely restrained the impulse to make the first move. “Where do you think?”

“Then you know who I am?” As he spoke, Tavis crouched behind the boulder the giant had just thrown at him. He stretched a hand toward his bow. “I don’t see how you could. There are thousands of firbolgs in the Ice Spires.”

“But few runts.” The giant stepped on the boulder, pressing it into the ground. “And only one who serves the queen of Hartsvale.”

“Then you have me at a disadvantage,” Tavis said. Although he could feel his heart pounding, he remained poised to roll away. “Who are you?”

“I am known as Odion,” the giant answered.

“Well, Odion, what now?” Tavis cast a longing glance toward his beloved bow.

“We will have no more of your tricks.” Odion positioned the boulder in his hand over Tavis. “That will only prolong matters.”

The scout sprang forward and smashed an elbow into the soft spot below Odion’s kneecap. The joint popped and straightened, drawing a deep grunt from above. The giant dropped his stone, but Tavis had slipped between the brute’s legs and was already darting toward the bluff.

“Come Tavis! This isn’t worthy of you.”

Tavis scrambled over the stony ridge without responding. A loud clatter sounded from the other side as Odion gathered up an armful of throwing boulders.

“Only through the grace of acceptance does one triumph over death,” admonished the giant. “In every other aspect your life has been recorded with great esteem. I pray you, do not sully that account with a graceless end.”

Tavis drew his sword. “You may write that I have no intention of ending my story here,” he called, crouching behind the bluff. “Let that decision reflect on my annals as it will.”

The scout crept silently forward, hunched over and staying close to the ridge. After a dozen paces, he judged it safe to glance at Wyvern’s Eyrie. A great starburst of scorched granite now marred the cliff’s silvery face. Nothing remained of the bridge except the ends of splintered logs, with Odion’s partner dangling from one of the stubs by a single hand. The stone giant’s feet scraped madly along the cliff, while his free hand slapped blindly at the ledge above, where the shepherd youth was dodging back and forth, smashing the brute’s fingers with a large stone. The four women had sent the young girls ahead and stopped at the next bridge. Two of them kneeled at each end, working furiously to cut the heavy logs free.

Tavis heard a loud thump behind him and looked over his shoulder. Odion was leaning over the bluff, staring at a boulder he had just dropped where the scout had been earlier. Realizing the quickest way to defeat the giant would be to give him a false sense of confidence, the firbolg jumped to his feet and zigzagged across the tundra as though terrified.

“This is not worthy of you, Tavis!” A boulder sailed past the scout and thudded into the tundra. “It is your time. Face death as bravely as you faced life!”

Tavis changed directions, narrowly dodging a second stone. He hazarded a glance back and saw Odion bracing for another throw, with three more boulders cradled in his arm. The scout darted to one side and slowed his pace. The next ridge was less than fifty paces away, and he wanted the giant close behind when he reached it.

A frightened cry rang out from Wyvern’s Eyrie. Still darting and weaving, the scout looked up to see the giant’s free hand close around the shepherd boy. In the same instant, the four women came charging down the trail with a heavy log under their arms. They rammed it into the stone giant’s head, and the brute fell away, still holding the shepherd youth in his hand. He disappeared behind the ridge ahead, then a terrible crash shook the meadow.

Odion hurled two more stones. One passed so close to the scout’s sword that the steel blade tinkled like a wind chime. Tavis changed directions and heard one more boulder thump down behind him. He glanced back and saw that his pursuer had no more rocks in his arms.

“Surely, now you will concede to the inevitable,” Odion called. Despite a pronounced limp, the giant’s long strides were quickly closing the distance between him and Tavis. “Even you cannot hope to escape two of us.”

Tavis could only guess what his looming foe saw on the other side of the ridge, at the base of Wyvern’s Eyrie. Odion’s partner was probably shaking off the effects of his long fall. It would take more than a hundred-foot drop to kill a stone giant.

The scout headed directly for the bluff. Odion caught up in three strides and stooped over to grab his quarry. Tavis threw himself into a forward roll and returned to his feet five paces shy of the ridge. He pumped his legs hard, bounding toward the bluff as swiftly as a stag.

“There is nowhere to go,” Odion said. “Accept your fate.”

The shadow of the stone giant’s hand crept over Tavis. The scout leaped into the air and braced his feet against the side of the bluff, then sprang back toward Odion.

Tavis landed almost exactly where he had intended, requiring only one quick step to place himself beside his foe’s leg. He swung his sword hard, then felt a sharp snap as his blade sliced through the delicate tendons behind the giant’s knee. Odion bellowed, and his leg buckled. He pitched forward, his huge body folding over the bluff like a corpse over a saddle.

The firbolg grabbed a handful of bloody flesh and pulled himself up Odion’s leg. The pain-stricken giant did not react until Tavis started to climb his back, and by then it was too late. When the brute tried to turn over, the scout placed the tip of his sword between two ribs.

“Go ahead and roll,” Tavis said. “You’ll drive the blade in for me.”

Odion wisely returned to his stomach. The firbolg’s blade was hardly more than a dirk to him, but a dirk was long enough to puncture a lung. “What is your intention?”

“I hope it isn’t to kill you,” boomed the second stone giant “I have not prepared myself to lose a son.”

Tavis instantly recognized the sonorous voice. “Gavorial!” The scout pressed the tip of his sword into the back of Odion’s neck, then looked up to see a familiar, grimly lined face. “I had thought never to see you again.”

“Nor I to see you-and both our lives would have been the better for it,” Gavorial answered. The stone giant opened his hand to display the shepherd youth he had snatched from the side of Wyvern’s Eyrie. The boy was battered and trembling with fear, but he was alive. “Yet here we stand, and now you must surrender-or burden your spirit with the weight of this boy’s death.”

Avner dived into the moldering grain, burrowing deep and fast. The oats and barley were damp and rank, but he tried not to think about what he smelled. The foul odor would keep anyone from poking around the heap, and that made it an ideal hiding place. He continued digging until he neared the other side, then cleared an eyehole so he could see the wrecked farmhouse and most of the rubble-strewn yard.

The giants had been little more than sticks on the horizon when Avner had stepped out of the spruce copse, but already they were close enough for the youth to see that they were frost giants. They had milky skin and bushy beards that ranged in color from dirty ivory to ice blue, and most were dressed in sleeveless jerkins and kilts made from some long-furred hide. They all carried double-bladed axes large enough to fell a mature spruce in a single swipe, and the leader wore a skullcap with two ivory horns.

When the giants reached the farm boundary, the leader thrust the heel of his hobnailed boot into the rock wall and stepped through the resulting breach. He stopped just inside the main yard, sending the other giants to inspect all corners of the farm. As they spread out, Avner counted fifteen of the milky-skinned brutes. The leader stomped up to the main house and began poking through the ruins, grunting angrily and kicking the stones in disgust.

One of the warriors called to him from the other side of the grain pile. Avner could not understand the words of the icy voice, since the fellow was speaking a racial dialect. This surprised the youth. The tribes of the Ice Spires had long ago embraced Common as their primary language, but he had heard that some giants still used their own tongues as a matter of pride.

When the frost giant leader circled around the pile to answer the warrior’s summons, Avner quickly retreated through the grain and opened a new spy hole. He found the two giants squatting beside the limbless torso of an old woman. The leader nodded in approval and slapped the flat of his axe blade down on the corpse. He bared his blue teeth in a cruel smile and rose.

“I didn’t think stone giants had the stomach for this work.” In contrast to his subordinate, the leader spoke Common.

The warrior snickered an answer, again in tribal dialect. Avner had no idea what the fellow was saying, but he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in surprise, for he did recognize one word: Gavorial.

Gavorial had served in the Giant Guard, which had once protected the monarchs of Hartsvale. When Brianna had forced her father to abdicate, it had been Gavorial who carried the addled king away, and who had warned Tavis that the giants would not rest until they delivered the queen to the Twilight Spirit. If the stone giant was a part of this, then Brianna was in greater danger than anyone knew.

As Avner watched, the frost giant leader reached into his belt purse and withdrew a rumpled parchment. He unfolded it and stretched it tight, then slowly scanned the surrounding area. After a moment’s study, the leader pointed toward the back of the farm, where the mouth of a narrow canyon led to Shepherd’s Nightmare.

A cold, sick dread welled up inside Avner. Somehow, the frost giants had learned about the secret pass, and that spelled disaster for Tavis.

When the youth considered what he could do to help his friend, his jaws began to ache as though he were going to retch. He had to cover his mouth and pinch his nostrils shut against the terrible odor of his hiding place, and even then he feared his gagging would draw the frost giants’ attention to the grain pile. His best hope of survival lay in staying hidden, but then the giants would be between him and Tavis, precluding any possibility of alerting the scout to his peril. Unfortunately, the boy’s other options, such as drawing the giants away or trying to sneak into the canyon first, seemed almost suicidal. Still, the youth had to do something. He could not sit by and let the frost giants tromp up the canyon to kill Tavis.

Avner crawled back through the grain heap, then pulled his sling from inside his tunic and peered into the yard. He saw only two frost giants on this side of the farm. They stood about a hundred paces away, peering into a tangled stand of scrub pine beyond the boundary wall. The youth slipped out of his hiding place and grabbed two rocks. A hundred yards was a long way for his sling to hurl a missile, but he didn’t need to be accurate.

Avner fit a stone into the pocket and whirled the cord over his head, then released the rock. The stone arced high into the air, sailing toward the wood, off to one side of the giants. As it passed over their heads, the youth was already placing his second stone in the sling.

The first missile dropped into the forest, bouncing off a tree trunk with a sharp crack. The heads of both giants swiveled toward the sound. Avner hurled his next stone, angling it slightly away from where the warriors were now looking. As the rock reached the top of its arc, he jumped back into the moldering grain.

Avner barely had himself covered before the two giants yelled for their companions. The youth retreated through the pile, amazed to discover that the odor no longer sickened him. Now that he was doing something, he felt better.

By the time Avner reached the other side of the heap, the frost giant leader and all his warriors were tromping off to investigate the pine stand. Avner crawled from his hiding place, then took a deep breath and sprinted for Shepherd’s Nightmare.

Gavorial waited a long time for an answer, and Tavis knew he would continue to wait. Stone giants were a people of infinite patience, given to careful deliberation and long pondering, so it would seem only natural to one that the scout would consider his response carefully. But Tavis had known the instant he heard the ultimatum what his answer would be. Now he was considering ways to reconcile his duty to the queen with his compulsion to save the shepherd youth’s life.

The boy himself was the first to break the lengthy silence. “Don’t surrender, Tavis.” The youth’s cracking voice was a fearful contrast to his brave words. “You’ve done right enough by my mother and my sisters. All I ask is that you kill that one while you can-just like he and his father killed my brothers and father!”

Strictly speaking, the relationship between the two giants did not parallel that of the youth to his father and brothers. Blood ties were not as important to stone giants as philosophical and spiritual heritage. Odion was more an apostle to Gavorial than a true son, but the boy’s thirst for vengeance did spark an idea in Tavis’s mind.

“Gavorial can still catch your family,” said the scout. “They won’t be safe until he and I come to an agreement.”

“Agreement?” scoffed the youth. “Did you not see what these monsters did to our farm? How can you think he’d honor his word?”

“Because he’s a stone giant.” Tavis locked gazes with Gavorial, searching in vain for some hint of the stone giant’s thoughts. “He won’t have it written in the Chronicles of Stone that he broke a pledge.”

“Just so,” agreed Gavorial. “And I pledge to release the boy and his family if you surrender without harming Odion.”

Tavis shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Gavorial,” he said. “My duty-”

“It is no longer possible for you to fulfill your duty,” the stone giant interrupted. “Even if you elude me, you cannot keep your promise to Brianna. As we speak, fifteen of my cousins from the snow are ascending the canyon.”

“Frost giants?” Tavis gasped. He almost allowed the tip of his sword to stray from Odion’s ribs.

Gavorial nodded. “We have lured you into a trap,” the giant said. “Accept your fate with grace. At least you will save this boy and what remains of his family.”

The scout felt his legs go icy and weak, though not because he feared the frost giants. To set their trap, the giants had to have known he was coming-and that meant they had a spy in the castle. Tavis’s thoughts leaped immediately to Cuthbert, but he also realized there was another possibility: Arlien. The prince seemed honest enough and brave, and he had even been wounded by a giant, but the mere fact that he was a stranger made him suspect Perhaps Gavorial could be maneuvered into revealing which of the men had betrayed Brianna.

“I had not thought Cuthbert’s loyalties to the old king ran so deep,” Tavis said. “Or that Camden would be fool enough to try taking his kingdom back.”

“Camden already believes he has recaptured Hartsvale,” Gavorial replied. “The old king sits in his grotto from dawn to dusk, wearing a granite crown and sending invisible messengers to phantom earls. He has no part in this.”

“Then why is Cuthbert helping you?” Tavis demanded. “To save his castle?”

“I have no knowledge of the earl or his motives,” Gavorial said. “Odion and I were called to this place and so we came.”

“Called by whom?”

“You know by whom,” Gavorial answered. “I warned you what would happen.”

“The Twilight Spirit planned this?” Tavis gasped. “He’s here?”

“So it is best for you to surrender,” Gavorial replied, dodging the question. “You cannot stop us, and now you are too far from Brianna to use your golden arrow.”

“That may be true,” Tavis said. “But I am no stone giant. For me, the only graceful death is a fighting one.”

Gavorial’s gaze flicked from Tavis down to Odion, his black eyes betraying his sadness.

“Do not despair, Father,” said Odion. “I am ready.”

Gavorial nodded and began to close his fingers.

“Wait!” Tavis called. “Your son and the boy can do nothing, and we must fight no matter what becomes of them.” He lifted his sword from Odion’s back. “Let us spare their lives and resolve this ourselves.”

“That’ll be no good!” the shepherd youth objected. “As long as there’s one giant alive, my sisters are still in danger!”

“I’m sure Odion would pledge to leave them alone and return home,” Tavis said. “If that’s agreeable to Gavorial.”

The stone giant kneeled on the ground, answering with a swiftness uncharacteristic for his race. “It is.”

“But this is not necessary, my father!” Odion objected. “I have prepared myself.”

“I know, my son, but it is also not necessary that you die,” Gavorial said. He opened his hand and allowed the shepherd youth to step onto a bluff. “Tavis is right The battle has come to him and me. Make the pledge.”

Odion remained silent for several long moments, until the scout began to fear the giant would defy his father. Finally, however, Odion said, “I make the pledge. I shall return home as quickly as my wound allows, having nothing more to do with the war against Hartsvale.”

Tavis lifted his sword and saluted Gavorial. “Then it is done,” he said. “Now it is you and I, old friend.”

“I would that it were not so,” the giant answered, rising.

Tavis spun. He covered the length of Odion’s spine in three long strides and leaped onto the blood-soaked tundra. From behind him came a loud clatter as Gavorial tore handfuls of stone from the bluff. The scout rushed toward the next ridge at a full sprint, trying to cover as much distance as possible before the giant began hurling boulders.

Gavorial had a different strategy in mind. Tavis heard a loud sizzle behind him. His back exploded into stinging pain, and he felt himself being driven forward by a spray of gravel. He pitched into the tundra face first, tiny stones hopping across the meadow all around him.

Tavis rose to his knees. His back was raw and wet, with dozens of stone shards poking him like hot nails. The scout gritted his teeth and twisted around to see Gavorial looming above the bluff. Odion sat nearby, holding his injured knee and showing no interest in the fight. The shepherd youth stood on top of the ridge, watching the battle with terrified eyes.

Gavorial grabbed a boulder and stepped over the bluff.

Groaning in pain, Tavis pushed himself to his feet and resumed running. The scout counted three steps before feinting a dodge to his left. When he heard Gavorial grunt, he angled in the opposite direction. The giant’s boulder crashed down a good five paces away, then bounced once and came to rest.

Tavis sprinted straight to the next bluff, tossing his sword onto the summit when he arrived. He felt the ground trembling as Gavorial rushed across the meadow. The scout grabbed a handhold and began to pull, dragging himself up the rocky face in three moves. Behind him, the tundra hissed as Gavorial’s tremendous weight smashed it down.

Tavis peered across the top of the crag. His sword lay directly before him, the tip pointing at his nose and the hilt turned so that it lay two feet beyond his grasp. The scout felt a gust of hot breath brush across his back. Guessing what Gavorial would do next, he leaped to the left, reaching for a jagged spine of stone that angled out from the cliff.

Gavorial’s open hand slammed into the bluff behind the firbolg. Tavis grabbed the rock spear and swung his legs up hard. He spun over the spike, launching himself toward the bluff’s top.

Tavis’s feet touched down first, exactly as he had planned, but he had too much speed and tumbled over backward. Gavorial’s black eyes appeared in the sky above. The scout did a backward somersault, at the same time reaching for his sword. Gavorial closed his fingers, forming a fist as large as a cloud, and his hand started down. Tavis felt the hilt of his sword and grabbed, pointing the tip up.

The giant’s huge fist struck dead on. The pommel clanged against the rocky bluff, driving the blade deep into Gavorial’s hand and snapping the steel.

The stone giant bellowed in pain and jerked his hand away, spraying Tavis with hot blood. The scout tossed the useless hilt aside and rolled to his feet. He raced three steps across the bluff and leaped toward his bow. Gavorial sprang onto the bluff behind him, and a loud crash rumbled across the meadow.

Tavis landed and snatched Bear Driller on the run. He ducked behind a stone Odion had hurled at him earlier, then pulled a runearrow from his quiver and nocked it The firbolg raised his head and saw Gavorial leaping down from the ridge, a huge foot kicking at the boulder.

Tavis did not see the enormous heel strike, or even hear the crash. He simply found himself flying through the air in terrible pain, with Bear Driller sailing in one direction and the runearrow in the other. He landed in a limp heap and bounced across the tundra, tumbling head-over-heels an untold number of times.

When he finally came to rest, the scout did not wait for his head to stop spinning. He jumped up and lurched off in the direction he thought his runearrow had flown, knowing that any move would be safer than waiting for Gavorial to stomp on him. His chest ached where the giant’s kick had driven the boulder into him, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The runearrow lay less than five paces ahead. The fletching hung in tatters, but the shaft and head remained intact.

Tavis felt a jolt and thought his knees had buckled, then realized it was only Gavorial’s heavy steps shaking the ground. The scout stooped over to grab the runearrow and saw the shadow of a huge foot fall over it. He pulled his hand back, empty, and leaped away. The stone giant’s foot came down hard, sending a shudder through the entire meadow.

“Basil is wise!” Tavis yelled.

The scout felt the explosion in the pit of his stomach, a terrible impact that seemed to arise from somewhere deep inside his own being. He found himself hurling through the air amidst a crimson spray laden with smoking flesh and pulverized bone. He did not hear the boom until much later, after the Shockwave had slammed him to the ground fifty paces from where it had picked him up. The cool mountain breeze carried the sickening smell of charred meat to his nostrils.

A harsh, anguished moan filled Tavis’s ears. At first he thought he might be making the horrid sound, reacting to some injury he had not yet sensed. But the scout had at least a vague awareness of his body, and while he ached all over, he felt no stabbing pains or unexplained numbness. He rose to his knees and looked in Gavorial’s direction.

The stone giant was not making the noise, either. He lay propped on his elbows, watching the stumps of his legs pour blood into a smoking crater. His gray skin had turned white, and he held his jaw clenched against the pain, but his black eyes seemed more interested in the process of dying than fearful of it.

The moaning ended in a single cry of despair, and Tavis looked toward the bluff to see Odion’s grief-stricken face peering down at his mentor. “My father!”

Gavorial looked up, then motioned to Odion. “Come, my son. The time has come for us to say our farewells.”

Dragging his injured leg behind him, Odion clambered over the bluff and slipped down to sit at his father’s side. “You have not left me yet” The giant pulled off his tunic and began to rip it into tourniquet strips. “I can drag you back to Stonehome.”

Gavorial laid a hand on his son’s arm. “How can I continue to walk the warrior’s path without legs?” The stone giant began to shiver, and his voice grew weak. “Let me depart proudly the life I have chosen.”

Odion’s big shoulders fell into a slump. He slipped an arm around Gavorial’s neck and cradled his father’s head in the crook of his elbow. “It shall be written that you died with pride and grace, my father.”

Gavorial managed a weak smile. “Let it also be written that I was felled by the dauntless firbolg Tavis Burdun,” he said. “And that we both fought well, in causes as legitimate as they are ancient”

Odion nodded. “I shall inscribe the record myself.”

Tavis rose and started forward to say his own farewells, but before he had taken three steps, a deep groan slipped from Gavorial’s mouth. The giant’s black eyes went gray and vacant, and the purple shadow of death crept down his face.

Odion let Gavorial’s head slip from his lap, then stood and looked to the eastern horizon. “I shall see you in Twilight, my father.”

The stone giant turned and limped away, leaving Gavorial’s body behind as though it were no longer of consequence.

The shepherd boy clambered down the bluff and ran to Tavis, panting heavily from his long sprint. “You won!”

The scout shook his head. “I prevailed,” he corrected. “Gavorial was not evil, and in killing him I also lost.”

The youth shrugged. “You survived. I’m glad of that”

Tavis nodded. “We can be thankful for that.” He looked down at the youth. “What is your name?”

“Eamon Drake at your service.” The youth bowed. “And you would be Tavis Burdun, am I right?”

“You are,” Tavis answered. He looked toward the ledge on Wyvern’s Eyrie, where the boy’s mother and sisters still stood, nervously eyeing the injured giant limping toward them. “Can you get back onto the ledge with your family?”

“They have a rope they can lower.”

“Good.” Tavis pulled one of his regular arrows from his quiver and handed it to the youth. The shaft was only an inch shy of being as tall as the boy. “Take this to Earl Wendel. He’ll recognize it by its length and know you speak in my name. Tell him the giants have trapped Queen Brianna in Cuthbert Castle.”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

“Earl Wendel is to send a rider to summon the Queen’s Guard from Castle Hartwick, and he is also to gather as many warriors from his own fief and those of his neighbors as he can,” Tavis said. “When the Queen’s Guard reaches Wendel Manor, you are to lead the entire army back over this pass. Do you understand?”

Eamon managed to close his gaping mouth, then nodded. “You can trust in me.”

Tavis clapped the boy’s shoulder. “I know I can.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you going to do?” the youth inquired. “You’ve seen how narrow the canyon is. You’ll never get past all those frost giants.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Tavis said. He pulled Basil’s runemask from his satchel and turned toward Gavorial’s corpse. “They won’t even try to stop me.”