The Titan of Twilight

8

With five armored escorts following close behind, Tavis clambered up the stair turret and stepped onto the roof of Wynn Castle’s arsenal tower. At the parapets across the way stood Basil of Lyndusfarne, Royal Librarian and Runecaster to Her Majesty the Queen. The ancient verbeeg held his spindly hands clasped behind his back and wore a cloak of matted wolf-fur over his stooped shoulders. The tips of his big ears were crimson with cold, and his white hair was so thin that it barely concealed his gray, scaly scalp. He seemed as oblivious to the high scout’s arrival as he did to the muttered conversation of his own guards.

Tavis stopped at the verbeeg’s side, but said nothing. Basil’s milky blue eyes were focused far across the snowy plain, where the sun had kindled a twilight blaze in the clouds behind the glacier-clad peaks of the Ice Spires South. The runecaster looked almost blissful. His bushy eyebrows were arched in nearly sacred awe and his thick lips upturned in rapturous joy, but his expression did not conceal entirely the toll taken on him by the last three years. The circles under his eyes were as deep and black as canyons, and his cheeks were sunken with fatigue.

“Hello, Basil,” Tavis said. “You’re the last person I expected to find at Wynn Castle.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” Basil did not take his eyes off the clouds.

Tavis felt sure his friend meant the sunset, not the hundreds of giant-kin scattered across the shadow-streaked snows outside. The first party of firbolgs had arrived at the castle that morning, less than two hours after the queen’s battered entourage. Since then, a constant stream of ’kin had been pouring from the Gorge of the Silver Wyrm. They were already building a siege tower and ram shed so they could storm the walls, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Their leaders were no fools; no doubt, they realized that Brianna had immediately sent for reinforcements. If they did not capture the queen before her reserves arrived, they never would.

The giant-kin had a difficult task ahead of them. Wynn Castle guarded the southern passes through which Hartsvale traded with the outside world, and only Castle Hartwick, the queen’s permanent residence, was stronger. More than once, Wynn Castle had withstood barrages of flame and stone cast by whole companies of fire giants. If the citadel had held against those assaults, it would likely survive anything hurled at it by the giant-kin.

Basil continued to stare at the sunset, completely lost in its beauty. The absentminded verbeeg often seemed to forget his surroundings-he sometimes went days without remembering to eat-but seldom was he absorbed by something so mundane as twilight.

“You didn’t come all this way to watch the sun go down,” Tavis said.

The high scout took Basil’s elbow and gently turned him around. The verbeeg’s gaze remained fixed on the blazing clouds, his body swiveling beneath his head until his neck could crane no farther. As his eyes were torn from the mesmerizing sight, the bliss drained from his face like water.

“What are you doing here?” Tavis asked. In case Basil had forgotten where ‘here’ was, he added, “Why did you come to Wynn Castle?”

Basil shrugged. “I’ve never seen this castle. Now seemed as good a time as any.”

“You haven’t set foot outside Castle Hartwick in three years,” Tavis countered. “In fact, you’ve barely left the Royal Library.”

The verbeeg knitted his gray brows and tugged at his wispy beard. Then his eyes glimmered. “I have news for you! And for Brianna, too, when you can arrange an audience.” Basil glanced toward the center of the castle, where the four ice-draped towers of Wynn Keep loomed above the inner curtain. “The guards seem to have forgotten who I am. I can’t get past the keep gate.”

“You’re doing better than I am,” Tavis replied. “They won’t even let me into the ward.”

“But you’re her husband!” Basil winced as soon as he spoke, then looked down at Tavis with an apologetic expression. “Aren’t you?”

The high scout spread his hands. “Who knows?” he asked. “I was yesterday.”

Basil’s face fell, and he looked away shaking his head. “This is terrible,” he said. “It could make things difficult.”

“You think it hasn’t already?” Tavis growled.

Basil did not seem to notice the scout’s foul humor. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?” Tavis snapped. “I didn’t do anything-except save her from the fire giants and the giant-kin and guide her out of Earl Wynn’s mines.”

“ Something must have happened,” Basil pressed. “And I must say, it couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left Castle Hartwick.”

Tavis nodded, then glanced around the ramparts. Counting his five armored escorts and the guards watching over Basil, there were nearly a dozen men on the roof of the small tower.

“You men go down inside and warm up,” he suggested. “I think we’re safe enough here.”

Tavis’s escorts and Basil’s guards exchanged nervous glances. Neither group made any move to leave.

“What’s wrong?” Tavis demanded. “Do as I say.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” said the sergeant. “But the queen gave orders. We’re to keep a watch on all the ’kin in the castle-especially you.”

Tavis’s stomach balled into an aching knot. He found himself stepping toward the sergeant, and he saw his own hands rising to shove the man into the stair turret. The soldier and his fellows all went pale, but they stood their ground and reached for their swords.

Basil’s long fingers dug into Tavis’s shoulder. “There’s no need for violence,” said the runecaster. “I can arrange our privacy, if that’s what you want.”

Tavis allowed himself to be stopped, then took a deep breath and addressed the guards. “I didn’t realize what your orders were. Please carry on-and I’m sorry for my reaction.”

“No offense taken, milord,” said the sergeant. “If my wife ordered a guard on me, I’d be… er… surprised, too.”

In spite of his words, the soldier did not remove his hand from his sword hilt, and neither did the guards with him.

Tavis retreated to the ice-capped merlon where Basil was already kneeling on the roof, using a small runebrush to trace a circle around their feet. Though the tip had not been dipped in paint or ink, a sparkling green pigment flowed from beneath the bristles. When the runecaster finished drawing the boundary, he slowly and carefully traced a complicated tangle of sticklike lines in the heart of the ring.

The rooftop fell instantly silent. Tavis could see the soldiers a few paces away, shifting uneasily and discussing the spell among themselves, but he could not hear them.

“As long as we don’t break the circle, they won’t hear our words.” Basil tucked the runebrush back into his cloak. “Now, I suppose you’d better tell me exactly what happened in the Gorge of the Silver Wyrm.”

“I’m not sure I know-exactly.” Tavis rested his elbows on the icy merlon and looked out over the darkening plain.

Despite the deepening shadows, the giant-kin were still at work. Firbolg sawyers were dragging logs across the snowy plain to verbeeg carpenters, who were busy lashing the timbers into huge siege machines. Even the fomorians were helping, skinning hundreds of deer, elk, and moose for the hides that would defend their towers against flaming arrows.

“Tavis, you’re behaving like a human,” Basil observed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were ashamed of something.”

“Not ashamed, but I should have handled things better,” Tavis admitted. “We were only five leagues from the Silver Citadel when the trouble started…”

The high scout recounted everything that had happened the previous day, from the onset of the fire giant attack through the arrival of the queen’s party at Wynn Castle, when Brianna had locked herself in Wynn Keep and ordered Tavis to remain in the outer bailey. By the time his story was done, twilight had fallen completely. The ’kin out on the plain were no more than shadows moving in the moonlike glow of the snow.

“I don’t blame Brianna for being upset about K-Kae-er, her son,” Tavis concluded. “So am I, but what can I do? I saw what I saw, and I can’t claim that child as my own. Brianna has no right to be angry with me.”

Basil slapped his brow. “Firbolgs! The problem is Galgadayle, you oaf!”

Tavis frowned. “The seer?”

“Why you had to spare him is beyond me, but to tell Brianna what you did was madness!” The verbeeg shook his head. “No wonder she doesn’t trust us. You’ve certainly ruined any chance that she’ll believe what I have to say. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t execute us both, much less grant me an audience.”

“Why should she execute us?” Tavis was genuinely confused. “I did what was right.”

“ ‘Right’ is a relative thing,” Basil countered. “I don’t see how saving the person who convinced three tribes of giant-kin to murder your wife’s baby is right-and more importantly, neither does Brianna.”

“But the law-”

“Your wife is the law,” Basil said. “And in her eyes, you’ve sided with your own race against her.”

“But it makes no difference that the child isn’t mine! I haven’t abandoned my oath!”

“Haven’t you?” Basil asked. “Then you believe Galgadayle was lying? Or perhaps you’re willing to sacrifice the northlands to the giants?”

Tavis slammed his fist on the merlon, shattering the ice cap and sending a silvery cascade of shards clattering down the tower wall. He watched the fragments disappear into the snow drifts atop the frozen moat, then shook his head.

“You know as well as I that Galgadayle can’t lie,” Tavis said. “But maybe he’s mistaken. He was wrong about the twins.”

“Not really. If humans see the face of your child, and firbolgs see the face of the imposter, then perhaps she did bear twins,” Basil said. “And that makes your decision even more difficult.”

The runecaster did not have to clarify what he meant. If both children had been born in the same body, then the imposter’s spawn could not be destroyed without killing Tavis’s son as well. A queasy feeling filled the high scout’s stomach. He was torn between two intolerable prospects: allowing the ettin’s offspring to mature and lead the giants against the northlands, or helping the ’kin murder his own child.

Tavis’s oath as lord high scout allowed only one choice. He had promised to protect Brianna’s kingdom and defend her person against Hartsvale’s enemies, even if it meant taking her life to prevent them from capturing her. If Basil was right, the only way he could keep his vow was to slay not the queen, but her child-and his child as well.

Tavis’s hands started to tremble, then his knees grew weak and he had to brace himself on the icy merlon. He was beginning to understand why Brianna did not want him near her baby.

“If that child truly looks like me to Brianna, I can’t imagine how she feels.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Tavis looked into his friend’s ancient eyes. “Basil, we must find out exactly who K-Kaedlaw is,” he said. “And I’m afraid the burden must lie with you.”

“Why?”

“Because Brianna’s not going to let me anywhere near that baby, and I don’t blame her,” Tavis replied. “Besides, we already know what I see. Maybe your vision will prove truer than mine, especially with the aid of your runes.”

“At the moment, I suspect the queen would not look kindly upon me-or any giant-kin-painting runes on her child’s forehead,” Basil replied. “Besides, Kaedlaw’s parentage is hardly important.”

“Of course it is!” Tavis growled. “There’s more at stake here than my pride-much more.”

Basil shook his gaunt head. “That’s what I came to tell you,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if Galgadayle’s dream is right.”

“How can that be?”

The verbeeg twisted his thick lips into a cunning smile. “Because we have the power to prevent the prophecy from coming true-and it wouldn’t matter if Kaedlaw’s father was Memnor himself!”

Tavis grimaced. “Are you saying what I think?”

Basil’s eyes twinkled like stars in the purple twilight sky. “I found Annam’s axe,” the verbeeg confirmed. “I know where Sky Cleaver is, and you can recover it.”

Tavis backed away. He would have stepped outside Basil’s rune circle had the verbeeg not stopped him.

“You know what I think of this,” Tavis said. “Mortals were not meant to wield such weapons.”

Basil’s grin only widened. “I know,” he said. “The giants will have no choice except to bow to you. As for Galgadayle and the ’kin armies-well, they can join us, or fall beneath our might.”

Tavis shook his head, more in disbelief than opposition. “Basil, listen to yourself! You don’t even have the axe, and already you’re talking as though you rule the world.”

The verbeeg nodded. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I mustn’t be the one. But your heart is pure, Tavis. You can wield the axe for all of us.”

“My heart may not be as pure as you think,” Tavis replied. He would never be able to look at Kaedlaw without feeling a very private anger. “And even if I were as pure and noble as you believe, what happens to the weapon when I die?”

Basil rolled his eyes. “Tavis, you aren’t going to die for a long time-not with Sky Cleaver in your hand!”

“Everyone dies sooner or later, Basil,” Tavis said. “But a weapon like that endures forever. Even if I have the strength to control it, the next owner may not-and I won’t be responsible for what happens to the world then.”

“So, put it back before you die!” Basil snapped. “But Sky Cleaver would give you the power to keep your oath to Brianna. You must wield it-or break your word.”

The verbeeg folded his arms across his chest and stared down his cob nose.

“That might be so-if I could control the axe,” Tavis said. “But you’re hardly power-mad, Basil, and the mere thought of Sky Cleaver fills your head with visions of conquering giants and forcing the ’kin tribes to bow at our feet. How can I hope to resist the weapon’s lure when I actually hold it in my hands?”

“That’s-that comparison’s ridiculous!” Basil sputtered. “I’m a verbeeg. I don’t have any morals!”

“My point exactly,” Tavis replied. “Once I recover the weapon, you will stop at nothing to steal it away.”

“There would be no need to steal it,” Basil answered. “I have no interest in becoming any sort of emperor.”

“Then what do you get?”

A hungry light flickered to life in Basil’s eyes. “Knowledge,” he answered. “Sky Cleaver has the power to cut to the heart of any matter.”

“I should have known,” Tavis snorted. “Never, Basil. Not if the giants were pouring through the gates and I was the last warrior alive to defend the queen.”

“Really?” The verbeeg’s lip curled into an oddly affable sneer. “It may be the only way to learn Kaedlaw’s true paternity.”

Tavis stepped forward until he was standing chin-to-chest with the verbeeg. “Basil, you should know better than to try extorting me,” he warned. “You may be a friend, but even you cannot stand between me and my sworn duty.”

The runecaster’s sneer vanished. He looked over the parapets and fixed his eyes on the white plain, where the purple twilight shadows were inexorably sliding toward Wynn Castle. “I had to try. You know that.”

“No, I don’t, Basil,” Tavis replied. “Some things are unpardonable, even for verbeegs.”

Tavis stepped back and rubbed his boot sole across the floor, wiping away a small swatch of Basil’s privacy rune. The entire circle evaporated, as did the symbol at its heart.

Tavis heard his guards crying out in astonishment. He scowled, unable to imagine that a vanishing rune would cause such a reaction, and turned to find the soldiers standing on the opposite side of the tower. They were pointing toward the inner ward, where an eagle-shaped cloud of purple gloom was spiraling down from the twilight sky.

“What is it?” The sergeant glanced back at Tavis. “Is Hiatea herself coming to see the queen’s child?”

“I doubt it.” Tavis started across the roof. “Sound the alarm-and get your men to the keep!”

The sergeant shoved his warriors into the stair turret.

The murky eagle lowered a pair of great, taloned feet and swept low over Wynn Keep, beating its huge wings to bring itself to a halt. A tremendous wind buffeted the inner ward, raising a thunderous clatter as cobblestones and other debris sailed into the walls. The bird settled to the ground, concealing its lower body behind the high ramparts of the inner curtain. It stretched its wings to its sides, and the feathers curled back upon themselves to create a pair of armlike limbs. The raptor’s deep breast broadened into a wide, manlike chest, and the feathers on its neck became a fringe of long dark hair.

“Diancastra watch over us!” Basil hissed, his flat feet slapping the roof behind Tavis. “And may Hiatea save the queen, for we never will!”

The last of the shadow bird’s feathers vanished, then a pair of ears sprouted behind its temples. The hooked beak retracted into a long aquiline nose, and the murky creature was suddenly an impossibly huge giant. The colossus stood taller than Wynn Keep itself. His shoulders were as broad as the corner towers, and his biceps larger than their stair turrets. He wore a cloak of purple twilight, with a sash of starlight shimmering across one shoulder. Upon his head sat a crown of black silver beset with rubies and sapphires darker than the night.

The giant’s face was as swarthy as his attire, with teeth the hue of robin eggs, gleaming damson eyes, and skin so richly purple it was almost black. Save for the silhouette of his square-cropped beard and a sliver of moonlight glinting off his brow, little else could be seen of the intruder’s features. The colossus seemed more an apparition of the dusk than a living, breathing being, and Tavis knew that his wife’s true enemy had shown himself at last: the Titan of Twilight.