The Giant Among Us

8

Tavis groaned. The glacier ahead was a large one, with a high, clifflike snout and a boulder-strewn moraine at least three thousand paces long. Rivers of blue water gushed from several ice caves large enough for a stone giant to stand inside, and the frigid wind hissing off its back had been sopping up the glacial cold for dozens of miles. The first frost giants were already entering a steep chute that ascended to the summit of the terminus, and the scout did not know where he would find the strength to follow them.

After a full day of forcing Gavorial’s massive body to keep pace with the frost giants, Tavis was spent to the core. The fatigue seemed as much spiritual as physical. With each step, he felt a cord tugging at that deep place where he stored his courage and fortitude, and his chances of surviving long enough to rescue Avner seemed more remote.

By the time Tavis reached the chute, half the frost giants in line had already started climbing. Still, the trough was narrow, with icy footing that made for slow going, and the scout could see that he had a few minutes before his turn came. Thankful for the chance to rest, he walked a few paces to the valley wall and sat in a dry side ravine. He braced his back against one slope and his feet against the other, then closed his eyes and listened to the wind hiss through the limber pines.

“You stone giants spend too much time thinking and not enough hunting,” observed Bodvar, who was standing at the end of the line. “A giant who tires so easily is a poor excuse for a warrior-especially if he’s supposed to be the best of his tribe.”

Tavis opened one eye and regarded Bodvar stonily. The frost giant was sneering from behind his unruly yellow beard, his pale eyes issuing an unspoken but obvious challenge.

“Tavis Burdun is not an easy firbolg to kill,” Tavis said. “Let me rest today, and tomorrow I’ll show you who’s the poor excuse for a warrior.”

The sneer vanished from Bodvar’s face. “Thrym stop me! If Julien and Arno had not forbidden challenge fighting, I’d take you up on that offer,” he growled. “But I’m sure Hagamil will let me kill you, once all is done.”

“By then, it’ll be too late to avenge the insult,” said Avner, who was tightly gripped in the warrior’s fist. Slagfid, the war party’s leader, had decided that since Bodvar had captured the traell, he would have the honor of carrying the prisoner back to camp. “Gavorial will be long gone. You have to kill him now-if honor means anything to you.”

Tavis felt a proud smile creeping across Gavorial’s lips. The youth still had not given up hope-far from it; he was taking every opportunity to sow discord among his captors, and trying to avenge the death of a close friend while he was at it

“What are you smiling at?” demanded Bodvar. “I just might listen to the traell.”

“And you might get killed,” Tavis replied. He knew that any attempt to smooth things over would fail, earning him Bodvar’s contempt as well as his animosity. Frost giants respected strength and prowess above all things. “Either way, it makes no difference to me.”

The scout closed his eyes and returned to his rest, confident that Bodvar would leave him alone. The warrior would gain nothing by attacking now, for frost giants saw no honor in killing by surprise.

A short time later, Tavis was roused from his nap by a large rock bouncing off his head. “Are you coming, Sharpnose?” demanded Bodvar’s annoyed voice. “Or do you want to spend the night down in this heat?”

The scout rubbed his sore temple and shot a menacing scowl at Bodvar, then braced his hands in the pine needles to push himself to his feet. That was when he noticed a tiny, frightened face peering at him through the boughs of sapling pine.

Tavis blinked twice. The face remained, a small olive-skinned moon with the soft features of an adolescent girl and a halo of black hair. Her flat nose and tiny mouth left no doubt of her race; she was of true traell heritage, no doubt from one of the tribes that occasionally crossed the Ice Spires to make a home on the fringes of Hartsvale.

The child’s brown, almond-shaped eyes remained moored to Gavorial’s grim face, as though she expected the stone giant to reach out and pulp her.

“Well, Sharpnose?” Bodvar insisted.

“Go on,” Tavis replied. “I’ll be along.”

“Can’t,” the frost giant grumbled. “Slagfid told me to be sure Bear Driller and those rags of yours make it to camp. Hagamil’s going to want to see them.”

“Okay, I’ll come now.” The scout pushed himself to his feet.

The girl’s eyes widened, but she did not run.

From Gavorial’s full height, Tavis saw that the child’s hiding place was not nearly as good as it appeared from the ground. He could easily see her crouching behind the sapling, her brown woolen cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. The scout glanced at Bodvar and saw that the frost giant’s angle was just as good. If the warrior happened to look in the sapling’s direction, he would spot the child.

The scout stepped in front of the girl. “I said I was coming!” he snapped. “You don’t have to wait”

Bodvar scowled. “If you say so,” he grumbled. “By Thrym’s beard, I’d think you’d be in a better humor after killing Tavis Burdun!”

The frost giant started up the chute. Tavis slowly glanced over his shoulder and saw the girl backing away from her hiding place. Their eyes met, then she cried out in alarm and sprinted up the side ravine.

“What’s that?” demanded Bodvar.

Tavis returned his gaze to the glacier and saw the frost giant staring down at him. The scout yawned and started forward, dragging his feet to muffle the sound of snapping branches and clattering rocks coming from the ravine behind him.

“Quit your yawning!” Bodvar ordered. “I heard a traell! ”

The frost giant scrambled out of the chute and brushed past the scout. Egarl, the next warrior in line, was more than twenty paces ahead. He kept his eyes fixed on the ice ramp beneath his feet, too worried about his traction to notice what was happening behind him. Tavis turned around to find Bodvar peering up the side ravine, his free hand cupped to his ear.

“Don’t you hear that, Sharpnose?” demanded Bodvar.

Tavis heard it: the soft sobbing of a child in terror. “What should I be listening for?”

“Are stone giants stone deaf?” Bodvar demanded. “The whimpering traell.”

Tavis stepped to the frost giant’s side and peered up the gully. It was difficult to see much. Both slopes were covered by dense stands of limber pines. The trees had thick, downswept boughs that hung nearly to the ground, providing perfect camouflage for small beasts like traells and deer. The small clearings between the trees were full of rocky outcroppings, all the same shade as the child’s cloak.

“Are you sure it isn’t the wind, Bodvar?” Tavis asked. “I see nothing except trees and rocks.”

No sooner had the scout spoken than the girl stepped from behind a boulder, darted up the slope, then vanished between a tangle of pine boughs. The child had already run a surprising distance up the ravine, but Tavis knew that it would not take a frost giant long to catch her.

“I’m sure,” Bodvar said. He thrust Avner into Tavis’s hand. “Hold this. I’ll run that traell down.”

Tavis accepted the burden, too shocked to reply, and stared blankly down at the youth while Bodvar trundled up the ravine.

“You wanted me, Gavorial,” Avner said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Get you out of here,” Tavis said. He started down the main valley at a trot

“Hey, Slagfid!” Avner’s voice did not boom like a giant’s, but it was loud enough to echo off the canyon wall. “Help! He’s stealing me!”

“Quiet! I’m not Gavorial,” Tavis hissed. “I’m Tavis.”

“Like I’m Queen Brianna!” the boy retorted. “Slagfid, help!”

Tavis stopped and slipped a large finger over Avner’s mouth. The youth promptly sunk his teeth into the hard flesh and ripped out a small chunk of gray hide. The scout pinched the boy’s head between his thumb and forefinger, holding it steady.

“I’m telling the truth,” Tavis said. “I used Basil’s mask.”

The boy raised his brow and stopped struggling, so Tavis took his bleeding finger away.

“What mask?” The boy’s tone was suspicious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” Tavis replied, glancing toward the glacier. When he saw no warriors pouring out of the chute, he began to hope the frost giants had not heard Avner’s cries. He slipped into the woods and started to climb the valley wall. “You remember. We were in Cuthbert’s library, and you asked Basil how I could impersonate a giant if I was too small?”

Avner considered this, then a grin of relief spread across his face. Tears of happiness rolled down his cheeks, and he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in Shepherd’s Nightmare?”

“The giants have a spy inside the castle. It was a trap.” Tavis was already panting from the climb. “Gavorial and his son were going to block the pass so the frost giants could catch me from behind. If you hadn’t delayed Slagfid and his war party, their plan might have worked.”

“And you killed both Gavorial and his son?” Avner asked, awed. “Two stone giants?”

Tavis braced himself against a tree and paused to rest. Over in the ravine, he could hear Bodvar crashing through the trees, searching for the traell girl.

“I had to kill only Gavorial.” He put Avner on the ground. “Odion pledged to return home and have nothing more to do with the war.”

“And you believed him?” Avner scoffed. “Now I know you’re Tavis.”

“A stone giant’s pledge is sacred,” the scout replied. “And speaking of pledges, weren’t you supposed to stay in the castle?”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t,” Avner replied. “Bodvar would be carrying you into camp.”

Tavis pushed off the tree and started up the slope, angling back toward the ravine. “A promise is a promise, Avner,” he said. “The last thing you told me-”

“There were circumstances.” The youth had to run to keep pace with Tavis’s giant strides.

“What circumstances?”

Avner slowed and looked away. “The spy. I know who he is.”

Tavis frowned. “Keep moving,” he said. “Tell me what you know.”

“I saw Brianna with Prince Arlien.” The youth hesitated, then added, “Late at night-in his chamber.”

A lump formed in the pit of Tavis’s stomach. “That hardly makes him a spy.” The firbolg grabbed a tree and used it to pull himself up the slope. “They might have been discussing-”

“Brianna was in her bedclothes-or rather, half out of them,” Avner interrupted. “In Arlien’s arms.”

All the strength went out of Tavis, and he had to stop, head pounding and legs quivering. He doubled over to brace his hands on his knees. “Even if you’re sure of what you saw-”

“You think I’d be here if I wasn’t?” the youth snapped.

“No,” Tavis admitted. His voice sounded rather weak and tinny for a giant, and he wondered if Basil’s magic was beginning to wear off. The scout hoped not He still had business to conclude with Bodvar, and it would be safer if he appeared to be a stone giant “But the queen must think of Hartsvale.”

“Whatever she and Arlien were thinking of, it wasn’t Hartsvale,” Avner retorted.

Tavis pinched his eyes shut, trying to fight back the image that came unbidden into his mind: an eight-limbed creature of writhing flesh, two backs and two heads, moaning and grunting and smelling of musk… The scout didn’t have the strength. He slumped to his knees, his entire body trembling, tears of exhaustion welling in his eyes.

Avner was at his side instantly. “What’s wrong?”

The scout shook Gavorial’s massive gray head. “I’m tired,” he said. “Being a stone giant is harder than Basil said.”

“You’d better find some strength somewhere,” Avner replied. “Because when you hear what I have to say next, you’ll want to kill Arlien.”

Tavis looked up. “I can’t kill a man for the choice a woman makes.”

“She didn’t make the choice,” Avner said. “The prince made it for her.”

The scout’s jaw clenched tight “He took her by force?”

Avner shook his head. “By magic,” he said. “She was wearing those ice diamonds. I swear they’re enchanted. She couldn’t even remember your name, and I got my hand frostbitten trying to rip the necklace off.”

“Charm magic?” the scout growled. An angry fire began to burn deep within him, renewing his ebbing energies and filling him with a savage, feral strength born of love and fury. “He used charm magic against the queen of Hartsvale?”

Avner nodded.

Bodvar’s voice boomed across the slope. “Come out, good little traell. Frost giants are nice. Bodvar won’t hurt you.”

Tavis rose and started up the hill again, still angling toward Bodvar’s voice. “You’re right about what I want to do to Arlien.” The scout spoke as he moved. “But I’m still not sure Arlien is the spy. Was anyone else acting strangely?”

Avner’s jaw dropped. “How can you think it was anyone else?”

“Perhaps the prince just wanted to be sure he returned with a queen,” Tavis replied. “What he’s done is treacherous, but betraying me to the giants would hurt his cause more than it helped. Without the reinforcements Brianna sent me to fetch, the only wedding she’ll be attending is in the Twilight Vale.”

“Well, no one else was acting like a spy,” Avner said.

“What about Cuthbert?”

“The earl wants to see that army more than anyone,” the youth answered. “He’s scared to death he’ll lose his castle.”

“That’s what worries me,” Tavis said. “What better way to save it than strike a bargain with the giants?”

Avner shrugged. “I don’t think he’s got the guts.”

Tavis saw the ravine through the trees. About twenty paces above, it curved sharply toward him and ran across the hillside. From a dozen paces below the bend came Bodvar’s brutal voice. “Bodvar sees you, little traell! ” he called. “You can’t hide no more!”

The girl cried out in fear. It sounded as though she had reached the bend.

Tavis handed Bear Driller and the rest of his gear to Avner, then pointed across the slope. “Find someplace to hide,” he said. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“What?” the youth nearly screeched the question. “You’re not going up there?”

“I can’t let Bodvar catch that girl.” Tavis heard the frost giant crashing toward the bend. “Not if I can save her.”

“What about Brianna?” the youth demanded. “If something happens to you-”

“Nothing will happen,” Tavis said. “And if it does, Brianna will be safe. I sent a messenger to Earl Wendel with word of what’s happening here.”

“I was thinking of Arlien.”

Tavis pointed at the runearrows in his quiver. “You know how to use those.”

“Against Arlien?” the boy gasped.

Tavis nodded. “If it comes to that.”

Avner clutched the equipment to his breast and turned to do as ordered. Tavis resumed his climb, moving as fast as his weary legs would carry him. As he approached the ravine, he saw that above the bend it became something of a gorge, with rocky outcroppings flanking it on each side. He spied the girl standing near the center of the gulch, frozen in fear.

Bodvar’s head came around the corner, and his pale eyes went directly to the girl. He stooped over to scoop her up, his long beard swinging like a pendulum over her head. Tavis hurled himself into the ravine. He slammed into the frost giant with a thud, knocking the astonished warrior into the opposite wall.

A sharp crack sounded from the cliff top. Something long and brown sizzled past Tavis’s head, then there was a fifteen foot spear standing where Bodvar had been a moment before. The shouts of several angry men echoed down from above. The scout looked up and saw five black-haired humans struggling to pull a small ballista away from the gorge brink.

Bodvar sat upright and stared at the spear lodged in the gully floor. “Sharpnose, you saved my life!” he gasped. “Why’d you do a thing like that?”

Tavis shrugged. “Only Skoraeus knows.” As he spoke, the scout kept a sharp eye on the cliffs above. The ambush had caught him unawares, and he wanted no more surprises from the brave little girl and her companions. “You don’t deserve it”

Bodvar frowned. “I’ve smashed my share of traell dens,” he said, his voice defensive. He stood, then reached down to Tavis. “But reasons don’t matter. You did it, and now I owe you a debt.”

The scout accepted the proffered hand. “Does that mean you won’t be asking Hagamil for a challenge fight?”

“Only if you want-which I truly hope you don’t.” Bodvar grinned, then said, “I’d be honor-bound to lose.”

“That would hardly be amusing,” the scout replied. He glanced up and down the ravine, then said, “Let’s go, before they attack again.”

Bodvar shook his head. “Don’t worry, they’re back in their holes by now.”

“They’ve done this before?”

Bodvar raised his brow, fixing a suspicious eye on the scout “You’ve forgotten what happened when you came to hear Julien and Arno’s plan?”

Tavis winced, grinding his teeth together so hard that he tasted powder. “My-uh-my mind’s been on other things.”

Bodvar fixed the scout with a leery glare, then shook his head. “Stone giants,” he grumbled. “You’re so lost in your own worlds that you wouldn’t notice if Annam returned to this one.” Tavis said nothing.

Bodvar sighed, apparently interpreting the scout’s silence as a demand for further information. “The traells have been harassing us since Hagamil stomped their village.” The frost giant pointed up the slope. “But they escaped into their little mines, and now they keep bothering us. We’ve already lost three good warriors.”

“Three giants?” Such attacks would never drive the giants out, but he was glad to know the traells hadn’t lost their spirit “Is that so?”

“ ’Course it is,” Bodvar grumbled. “But don’t worry, they won’t be back. Let’s go get that other traell and be on our way.”

“Traell?” Tavis echoed. He hoped his bewilderment seemed genuine enough.

Bodvar’s eyes widened. “The one I gave you!” he rumbled. “You put him someplace safe, didn’t you?”

Tavis spread his palms and looked down at his empty hands, trying to appear appropriately sheepish. “I don’t have the bow, either.”

A blue flush rushed up Bodvar’s milky face. “Surtr’s fires! You were supposed to hold that stuff!” He grabbed Tavis by the neck and shook him. “Slagfid’ll stomp us!”

“It’s my fault,” Tavis said. “I shouldn’t have saved you.”

This brought Bodvar’s temper back under control. He released Tavis, then started to run his eyes over the ground. “That bow’s got to be here somewhere.” He looked up at the scout, then asked, “You had the traell and bow when you jumped, right?”

Tavis’s chest tightened, and a hot flush crept over his body. To answer that question truthfully was to expose himself. But simply refusing to answer, as most firbolgs did in such situations, would only make Bodvar more suspicious.

Bodvar’s glare grew more menacing. “You did have them, didn’t you?”

Tavis tried to swallow and found that he could not get past the lump in his throat. He scowled as though thinking, then looked up to meet Bodvar’s gaze-the frost giant was about three feet taller than him-and nodded.

Bodvar narrowed his eyes and did not look away.

Runnels of cold sweat began to trickle down the scout’s brow. His stomach tied itself into knots, and the exhaustion he had been fighting all day returned with such a vengeance that his knees began to tremble.

Bodvar’s lip curled into a contemptuous sneer, then he clapped a hand on the scout’s shoulder. “You don’t be so scared, Sharpnose,” he said. “Even if we don’t find ’em, Slagfid’s not going to kill us or nothing. Hagamil might, but not Slagfid.”

Tavis closed his eyes. “What a relief.” The scout’s voice cracked as he spoke. He pointed down the ravine and said, “You search in that direction, and I’ll look up here. Take your time-Avner’s good at hiding.”

“Yell if you find anything,” Bodvar said.

The frost giant turned around and began his search, overturning boulders and shaking trees so hard that bird nests fell from the boughs. Tavis did the same, though he was careful to keep a watchful eye turned toward the cliff top. In spite of Bodvar’s reassurances, he knew that any humans who baited their traps with young girls would not shirk at a few risks.

Tavis glanced behind him and saw that Bodvar was searching very carefully indeed. The frost giant’s section of ravine looked as though an avalanche had torn through it, with pines leaning in every direction and a jumbled heap of boulders piled in the center of the gully. The scout silently cursed his companion’s thoroughness, then pulled the ballista spear out of the ground and began to poke and prod into crevices and crannies.

About twenty paces up the ravine, the spear pierced something soft. A muffled grunt of pain came from inside the dark nook into which Tavis had thrust the spear. The scout glanced down the gully and did not see Bodvar, though he did hear the crack of a toppling tree around the bend. The firbolg breathed a sigh of relief, but did not withdraw the weapon. Until he could examine the wound, it was best to leave the spear where it was.

The traell was not so patient The weapon jerked once as the victim pulled free of it, then something bright flashed out of the crevice. Tavis had time to realize that the gleam was a steel blade before a battle axe buried itself deep into his big toe.

The scout jumped back, yelling in pain and surprise. The axe pulled free of his foot and rose for another strike. A skinny man with black braids and a gaping hole in his thigh limped out of the cranny. The traell swung his weapon again. Tavis jerked his leg away, and the blade sank deep into the blood-soaked ground. The scout brought his foot back and kicked the axe out of the man’s grasp.

“Sharpnose?” yelled Bodvar. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have matters well in hand,” Tavis could not keep the pain out of his voice, for the axe blow had cut his toe half off. “I’ll be fine.”

Tavis’s attacker stood in front of the crevice, shielding it with his scrawny body and glaring up at the scout. Though the human was trembling with fear, his black eyes showed no emotion but anger and hatred. Behind the man, peering out from the mouth of the nook, stood the girl who had lured Bodvar into the ambush.

“Did you find the traell?” Bodvar’s heavy steps rumbled through the forest

“Not Avner,” Tavis called. He looked down at the man, then pointed at the cranny and whispered, “Leave your cloak and go!”

The man’s expression changed from anger to disbelief, and he seemed too shocked to move. The young girl reacted more quickly, pulling the astonished fellow back into the crevice. She ripped his brown cloak off his back and threw it out, then both humans disappeared into the darkness.

Tavis glanced over his shoulder and saw Bodvar stomping around the bend. The scout used his injured foot to drag the cloak over to the blood-soaked ground, then grabbed the largest stone he could find and raised it over his head.

“Wait!” Bodvar yelled. “Don’t kill-”

Tavis hurled the rock down. The effect was perfect. With the axe lying nearby, a corner of the blood-soaked cloak visible, and a crimson stain spreading from beneath the stone, it looked as though the scout had avenged the attack on his toe. He sat down on the stone, then pulled his bleeding foot into his lap and inspected the wound.

The man had clearly known what he was doing. The axe blade had landed in the joint, slicing through the tendons and chipping the toe bone. Until this was healed, Tavis would have a difficult time walking, and running was out of the question. If he wanted to get away from the frost giants now-which seemed wise, given that he had no idea how much longer the magic in Basil’s runemask would last-he would have to do it through guile, not speed.

Bodvar pounded up and stopped beside Tavis, then surveyed the bloody scene around the scout’s perch. “Didn’t you hear me?” demanded the frost giant. “I said-”

“I know what you said,” Tavis interrupted.

“Then why’d you kill him?” Bodvar demanded. “Hagamil’s been trying to catch one of those traells since we got here.”

Tavis pointed to his bloody toe.

Bodvar grimaced, but said, “That’s nothing.”

The frost giant kneeled down and reached into the neck of his tunic, withdrawing a chain with a large, tear-shaped gem on it. From deep within the jewel’s heart scintillated a pale blue light that seemed all too familiar.

Tavis grasped the frost giant’s arm. “Bodvar, what’s that?”

Bodvar shook his head at the scout’s ignorance. “You never seen an ice diamond?”

Tavis wanted to retch, remembering the last ice diamonds he had seen. “Of course,” Tavis answered. “But not one so large.”

“This thing?” Bodvar scoffed. “This is nothing. You should see Hagamil’s. As large as my fist.” The giant closed his hand to illustrate.

“They’re magic?” the scout asked.

“They never melt, if that’s what you mean,” Bodvar said. “And you can enchant them, I suppose. But most warriors carry them for other reasons.”

The frost giant touched the gem to Tavis’s wound. The scout hissed as a bolt of searing cold shot into the gash, then his foot went numb clear to the ankle. The bleeding stopped almost instantly, and he even thought he would be able to walk.

Bodvar slipped the ice diamond back around his neck, then ripped the hem off his patient’s robe.

“This will hold you until I can convince Roskilde to heal you,” he said, his attention fixed on bandaging Tavis’s wound.

“My thanks,” Tavis said. He leaned back and braced his hand on the largest stone he could reach. “This is certainty a change from asking for a challenge fight”

“It’s little enough after you went and saved my life,” Bodvar said. “If it starts to hurt, let me know and I’ll touch it with my diamond again.”

“What would I have to do to get one of those diamonds?” Tavis asked. “Where do they come from?”

“You could never find one yourself,” Bodvar said, knotting the bandage. “Not unless you can follow the Boreal Lights to the heart of the Endless Ice Sea-and you’d be the first stone giant I’ve met who can do that.”

“Then the diamonds don’t come from Gilthwit?”

“Gilthwit?”

Bodvar looked up, his pale eyes as unreadable as ice, and fixed his gaze on Tavis. The scout gripped the stone beneath his hand, fearing that he had betrayed his disguise. He had realized that was a possibility when he had asked the question, but there had been no choice. The answer would tell him who the spy was, and once he identified the spy, he would know how much danger Brianna was in.

At last, Bodvar stood. “How could they come from Gilthwit?” asked the frost giant. “That place is just a legend. Like I said, ice diamonds come from the Endless Ice Sea.”

“And no other place?”

“ ’Course not. Only the Endless Ice Sea’s cold enough to forge ’em,” Bodvar answered. “But you don’t have to go out there to get one. We can trade for it.”

Tavis released his hold on the stone. If ice diamonds came only from the Endless Ice Sea, then the Prince of Gilthwit was a liar-and probably an imposter as well.

The frost giant slipped an arm around Tavis’s waist to help him stand. “We’d better be getting back,” he said. “Slagfid’ll be wondering where we got off to.”

“You go ahead-and blame Avner’s loss on me,” Tavis said, making no move to rise. “I’m going to keep looking.”

Bodvar hoisted the scout up. “Don’t be stupid. With that foot of yours, you wouldn’t last an hour before the traells get you,” he said. “And now that we don’t have the boy, you’re the only proof we got that Tavis Burdun is dead.”

“But your chief will never take my word!”

A cunning grin crept across Bodvar’s lips. “Slagfid wasn’t exactly telling you the truth,” he said. “The only reason Hagamil wants a body is so he can give it to Julien and Arno and claim that we frost giants killed Tavis Burdun by ourselves. When we show up without any other proof, he’ll be real mad-but he won’t hurt you. He needs you to tell Julien and Arno what happened. They’ll be even madder than him tomorrow if they don’t know for sure that Tavis is dead.”

“What’s so important about tomorrow?” Tavis asked.

Bodvar glanced down the gulch, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’re not supposed to tell you, but that’s when we’re meeting Julien and Arno,” he said. “They’re gonna have Brianna, and they want to be real sure Tavis Burdun can’t come kill her.”