The Titan of Twilight

by Troy Denning

  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.

  9

  Wynn Keep

  On the head of the spear danced a silver flame, a flame fueled not by burning oil or blazing pitch, but by the queen’s ardent devotion. When she felt the cold floor shudder beneath her knees, that flame sputtered and dwindled to a cinereal flicker. Through the shuttered window came the muffled and distant voices of shouting men. The floor trembled again. The spear shaft rattled in its sconce, and the pearly faith flame winked out altogether. The queen’s thoughts reeled inside her mind. She found herself plummeting through a vast, abyssal void. She continued to fall, her head spinning ever faster, until Kaedlaw growled in the darkness.

  The rumble caught Brianna like a rope. Her thoughts stopped swirling, and she was suddenly, completely there, kneeling in the small cold temple, listening to her son grumble on the altar before her. The queen reached out, blindly feeling her way along the stone platform until she located her fur-swaddled child. She pulled him out of his wrappings and tucked him beneath her cloak, then called for Avner.

  A squeal rang off the stone walls as the door’s iron hinges grated open. The young scout stepped into the doorway, filling the small chamber with the shimmering yellow glow of his candle.

  “Yes, Brianna?” He reached her side with a single step. “What did you learn?”

  “Nothing. I was interrupted.” The queen held her hand out to him. Even kneeling, her arm was at the height of Avner’s chest. “But it doesn’t matter. I know who fathered my child. Tavis is the one who can’t see straight.”

  A troubled look flashed across Avner’s face. “Milady, I should …” He hesitated, then slipped an arm beneath her elbow. “Well, you should know Tavis isn’t the only one.”

  Brianna did not rise. “What do you mean by that? Surely, you haven’t betrayed me as well?”

  “Of course not, Majesty!” The young scout’s jaw dropped in a show of indignation. “I was speaking of Raeyadfourne. He didn’t find the prince handsome, either.”

  Brianna studied Avner’s face. The young scout’s difficult childhood had made a master liar of him, and she found it more difficult to read his hidden feelings than those of her most devious earls. Had he really been thinking of the chieftain, or had he also seen the strange face she had glimpsed in the mines?

  “I fail to see what Raeyadfourne’s reaction has to do with my husband’s.” Through the closed window came the muffled trumpet of an alarm horn. The ’kin were attacking sooner than expected, but Brianna was far from concerned. Reinforcements would arrive long before her enemies could breach Wynn Castle’s thick walls. “Raeyadfourne is my enemy. Tavis is the father of my child—whether he admits to it or not.”

  “I know—but you shouldn’t be so hard on the lord scout,” Avner said. “Firbolgs see Kaedlaw differently than humans.”

  “My point exactly.” Brianna rose to her feet, relieved that the young scout was only trying to defend Tavis. She had already ascribed the incident in the mine to a delusion and had no wish to second-guess herself now. “People see what they expect. If Tavis sees a monster in his child’s face, it is because he trusts the firbolg seer more than he trusts me. I have not decided whether that is treason to his queen, but it is certainly betrayal to his wife.”

  Through the temple door echoed the tramp of boots, stomping up the curving stairwell that connected the tiny chamber to the rest of the keep. From outside the small window came the snap of firing crossbows and the sound of shouting voices.

  Avner frowned. “That sounds like it’s coming from the inner curtain.” He set his candle on the altar, then stepped to the shuttered window. “I’d better see what’s happening.”

  “It can’t be the firbolgs,” Brianna said. “We would’ve heard the siege—”

  “Don’t open the shutter!” The soldier’s voice came from the stairwell. “He’ll grab the queen!”

  Brianna spun around to find a fully armored garrison guard clambering into view. In his hands, he held a cocked and loaded crossbow, which he was pointing across the temple at the small window.

  “Who will grab me?” Brianna lifted her spell satchel off the altar. “We’re thirty feet off the ground! Even storm giants aren’t that tall.”

  “The fiend is!” The guard climbed into the doorway. Behind him followed a long line of his fellow warriors. “The giants must’ve called him. He’s walking ’round the keep, looking in—”

  A sharp crack sounded from the window, followed by a blast
of icy wind. Avner cried out, and Brianna looked over her shoulder. The shutter was gone. Avner was staring gape-mouthed through the casement, his eyes fixed on a buckler hovering outside. The shield had a peculiar design, with a black, platter-sized disk set in a damson circle.

  “Stand aside!”

  The garrison guard rushed into the temple, raising his crossbow to his shoulder. Avner backed away from the window, and the weapon clacked, sending a bolt of black iron through the casement. In the same instant, a purple lid slid down to cover the buckler outside.

  An eye!

  The quarrel passed through the lid without tearing the skin or drawing blood; it simply disappeared as though it had entered a bank of fog.

  “Hiatea help us!” Brianna clutched Kaedlaw more tightly to her breast. “No giant is that big!”

  The lid rose, once again revealing the huge eye. The pupil was as black and deep as Memnor’s cold heart. A low, rumbling thunder reverberated through the temple walls. So sonorous was the sound that it took Brianna a moment to recognize it as a voice.

  “… the child,” it growled. “Come to the window.”

  Another clack sounded from the door, sending a second quarrel past Brianna’s shoulder. This time, the eye didn’t blink. The bolt simply sailed into the black pupil and vanished.

  Avner grabbed Brianna’s arm and pulled her toward the stairwell. The narrow passage was crammed with soldiers, each holding a loaded crossbow and struggling to see past the warrior ahead.

  “Stand aside, you men!” Avner yelled. “Let the queen pass!”

  The young scout forced his way into the stairwell, shoving two men aside so Brianna could squeeze in after him. Though the soldiers were pressed flat against the wall, the corridor was so tiny she could barely force her way past their armored bulk. From behind her came the sound of clanging steel; the men who had already entered the temple were attacking with their swords.