The Giant Among Us

by Troy Denning

  At the other end of the dark archway, the iron portcullis hung less than six feet from the ground. The main gates were already closed fast, though the mandoor at the bottom remained open. Avner slipped through the portal. On the other side he found two sentries in the White Wolf tabards of Selwyn’s company.

  “I have an order from the queen!” he lied. The youth saw no use in trying to explain that Prince Arlien was a spy. Even if the guards believed him, which was doubtful, there would be too many questions. He gestured at the shorter of the two guards and commanded, “Tell Prince Arlien to await her majesty on the windward wall of the outer curtain. The queen will join him shortly. She has a special plan to turn the giants back!”

  The guards looked at each other doubtfully. “Turn the giants back?” scoffed the short one. He was a squat man with a curly red beard. “Now I know she’s lost her mind!”

  “Shall I tell her you said so?” Avner demanded.

  The guard ignored the youth and looked to his tall fellow. “What do you think?”

  “He is the queen’s favorite page,” answered the soldier. He fixed a suspicious glare on the youth, then added, “But I thought you’d run off—”

  “I’ve returned!” Avner snapped. “And my next message is for Captain Selwyn. Shall I tell him you two elected not to obey a direct order from the queen?”

  The guard’s eyes widened, but he shook his head and looked to his shorter companion. “You’d better do as he says.”

  Avner waited for the messenger to depart, then turned to the tall guard. “Where’s the dungeon?” he asked. “I’m to fetch Basil before I see Selwyn. The queen needs his magic to save us.”

  “It’ll take more than a few runes,” the soldier replied.

  Despite his pessimistic reply, the man pointed to the tower near the center of the inner curtain. Avner sprinted away. As he crossed the inner ward, another boulder volley struck the castle’s windward wall. The foundations of the inner curtain absorbed much of the impact, but the youth still felt the cobblestones tremble beneath his feet.

  At the tower, Avner found another sentry standing in the doorway. This one wore a leather hauberk emblazoned with Cuthbert’s crossed shepherd’s staves. To the youth’s surprise, the guard made no move to bar the door.

  “You’re the last of the women and children, I hope.” The soldier motioned Avner into the tower.

  The youth shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  The guard scowled and muttered a curse, then said, “Well, the tunnel’s in the second sub-basement, hidden behind a swinging shelf.” He pointed down a damp, spiraling stairway a few steps inside the doorway. “Be sure to pull it closed behind you.”

  “I’ll be sure,” Avner promised.

  Although the passage was well lit by torches, the youth forced himself to descend at a walk. The stairs were as ancient as they were moldy, littered with jagged bits of mortar knocked from the walls and ceiling by the boulders’ barrages. Avner had just reached the first landing when another volley hit the outer curtain, causing the entire corridor to jump and showering him with hunks of crumbling mortar. A loud crash sounded inside the chamber beside him, then the vinegary smell of sour wine filled the corridor.

  Avner continued his descent. The assault changed into a steady barrage that left the walls trembling and the air rumbling. The youth stopped at the second sub-basement, then opened the door into a chamber thick with the smell of moldering cereal. A single flickering torch hung in a sconce on the far wall, and by its light he saw that the room contained hundreds of grain sacks. Most of the corners had been chewed open by rats.

  The youth weaved his way to the rear of the room, where he found the swinging shelf that the guard had described. It hung partially ajar, revealing the entrance to a narrow, rough-hewn tunnel that ran roughly toward the main keep.

  One look into the cramped passage was enough for Avner to know Basil would never enter it. They would have to fight their way past the soldier at the top of the stairs, which would certainly prove more bruising for him than the youth and the verbeeg. Avner pushed the shelf to the wall and made certain that he heard the latch click.

  The youth returned to the stairwell and continued his descent The dungeon, he knew from bitter experience, would be in the lowest, dankest chamber of the tower foundations. Although the passage here was unlit, he did not bother to retrieve a torch. After a lifetime of thievery, he was accustomed to moving swiftly through the dark.

  Avner descended past one more basement, this one smelling of pine pitch, then the stairwell gave way to a flat, curving corridor. At the end of the hall hung a partially open door, with the dim light of a candle flickering on the other side of the threshold. The youth heard a guard running a whetstone over the blade of a weapon.

  Whatever Basil had done to land himself in the dungeon, it must have angered Cuthbert greatly. Once a prisoner was safely chained to the wall and his door barred, few earls would have bothered to keep guards posted in the antechamber—especially during a giant attack.

  Avner retreated up the stairs and fitted a chunk of loose mortar into the pocket of his sling. He ran back down the stairs, stomping his feet and whirling his weapon.

  “Who’s there?” The guard appeared in the doorway, holding a tallow candle in one hand and a battle axe in the other.

  Avner whipped his sling at the guard’s bare head. The mortar struck with an echoing crack, and the soldier’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. His knees buckled, and he collapsed in the doorway. The candle landed on the damp floor and sputtered out, plunging the corridor into darkness as black as obsidian.

  Avner felt his way along the dank wall until he reached the doorway, where he paused long enough to find the sentry. He didn’t mind knocking an occasional guard unconscious, but he had yet to kill one. After making certain that the man was still breathing, he stepped over the fellow into the dungeon’s antechamber. “Basil? Where are you?”

  “Avner? You’re alive?” The runecaster’s voice was muffled by a heavy door. “Or—or did I finally die?”

  “Relax,” Avner replied, following the words through the musty darkness. “We’re both alive.”

  “Oh, good!” Basil’s voice was growing increasingly squeaky. “By the light, that’s good!”

  Near the center of the room, Avner reached an oaken door fastened by a simple crossbar. As soon as he lifted the beam off its hooks, the door flew open and knocked him across the chamber. A thump resounded through the darkness as some part of Basil’s large body flopped out of the cell.

  “Get me out of here!” The runecaster’s chains chinked sharply as he jerked them taut. “Get me out now!”

  “Those chains are mortared into the tower foundation. Even a verbeeg can’t pull them loose.” Avner reached for his lockpicks. “Just calm down, and I’ll get you loose.”

  “Calm down?” the verbeeg shrieked, still rattling his chains. “I’ve been stuffed in that hole at least a month! What took you so long?”

  “It can’t have been a month,” Avner said, growing more concerned. He had expected the verbeeg’s nerves to be worn, but Basil seemed as though he had lost his reason. “I’ve been gone only four days.”

  “Liar!” Basil yelled. “Don’t try that—”

  “Basil, you’re no good to me like this,” Avner said evenly.

  “Good to you?” the verbeeg yelled. “I’m the one who’s been locked up in the dark—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Avner warned. “If you don’t pull yourself together and shut up, I swear I’m going to leave you down here.”

  Basil fell instantly silent.

  Avner heard the verbeeg take several deep breaths.

  “Avner?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m feeling much better now,” he said. “You don’t have to leave me down here.”

  “That’s good, Basil.” Avner stepped to the verbeeg’s side and located his manacled wrists. “Now hold still. Picking locks in the dark is dif
ficult enough.”

  The verbeeg remained as still as stone.

  “Basil, we’ve got a big problem.” Avner spoke as he worked. “Tavis is hurt, and Brianna’s lost her healing powers. I think it has something to do with Prince Arlien.”

  “Of course it does,” Basil answered.

  “Then you know what’s happening?” The wrist manacles came open, and Avner worked his way down to the verbeeg’s ankles. “Can you do something about it?”

  “If you can get me my runebrush and a chalice,” the verbeeg replied. “Reversing the love spell is easy enough. But getting rid of Arlien—that’s going to be a challenge.”

  Avner found the runecaster’s shackles and set to work opening them. “It is?” he asked. “How come?”

  “Because he’s the ettin.”

  “An ettin?” Avner gasped. For a moment, he couldn’t understand how this was possible. Then he remembered how effective Basil’s runemask had been in transforming Tavis into a stone giant. “In disguise?”

  “His enchanted armor,” Basil confirmed. “That’s why he never takes it off.”

  Avner popped the lock open. “We can still get rid of him if you really can cure Brianna,” the youth said. “After she’s back to normal, all she has to do is heal Tavis. I’ll bet he’s killed plenty of ettins.”

  Basil grabbed Avner by the shoulder. “You don’t understand,” he whispered. “Arlien isn’t just any ettin.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His name—rather, their names—were in the last folio I took from Cuthbert’s library: Arno and Julien. Together, Arlien.”

  “So what?”

  “That book tells of Twilight’s creation—thousands of years ago,” Basil said. “Arno and Julien are mentioned in it. They aren’t an ettin, they’re the ettin—the first one.”

  * * * * *

  Sweet wintergreen.

  Tavis smelled wintergreen. It was a familiar fragrance, and one he could not imagine sensing in the depths of an avalanche. He would not be able to smell anything, except perhaps his own singed body, and then only until he suffocated. So he could not imagine why his nose was full of that most pleasant of all odors.

  “Brianna?” He barely croaked her name, and the effort sent stinging waves of pain through his charred face. “Brianna?”

  And there was a pounding, not in his head, but somewhere outside. Rocks crashing against rocks. And men yelling, twanging ballista skeins, banging catapults.

  “Where … am … I?” Tavis opened his eyes. Lances of bright light shot through his head. His face felt cracked and leathery, his throat so parched that he could have emptied a horse trough. But still he smelled the wintergreen. The queen’s perfume. “Brianna?”

  “Merciful Hiatea!” A blurry face surrounded by a golden halo appeared over Tavis’s head. Someone sat on the bed beside him. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Tavis groaned. “How’d I get here? Avner?”

  The queen nodded.

  “Then he must be all right.” Tavis pushed himself into a seated position, then nearly blacked out from the throbbing in his head.

  The rumble of collapsing stonework echoed through the window. Brianna cast a nervous glance toward the sound.

  “What’s happening?” Tavis asked.

  “The giants are attacking,” the queen said. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “I assume you didn’t get through to Earl Wendel.”

  “I sent a message,” Tavis answered. His vision was beginning to clear. There were two purple blotches where the queen’s eyes were supposed to be, and he could see the scintillating blue lights of a necklace hanging around her throat Ice diamonds. Avner had told him they were enchanted. “The army isn’t here?”

  “You were supposed to bring it,” Brianna scolded.

  “The giants ambushed me in Shepherd’s Nightmare. They had a spy in the castle,” Tavis explained. “It seemed more urgent to warn you about the traitor.”

  Brianna raised her brow. “A spy,” she said. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “It’s Prince Arlien,” the scout reported. “Has he returned? I injured him, but I don’t know if I stopped him.”

  “Arlien?” Brianna gasped. Her voice sounded at once bewildered and frightened. “How can … you can’t be sure!”

  “I saw him speaking with the frost giant chieftain,” Tavis replied. “Now you must tell me—has he returned to the castle?”

  Brianna looked away, and in a distant voice she said, “You must … be mistaken.”

  Tavis squinted at her, trying to clear his vision. He could not see well enough to judge her expression, but he guessed her eyes would seem vacant or glassy. Her voice certainly sounded unsure and stilted, almost as though the words were spilling from her mouth on their own.

  “I’m not mistaken.” The scout waved his hand over his singed body. “Arlien’s the one who did this to me.”

  Brianna rose. “You … why are you lying?”

  “Listen to yourself, Brianna.” Although he had to speak loudly to make himself heard over the battle din outside, Tavis kept his voice calm and reasonable. “I’m a firbolg—you’d hear it if I were lying.”

  The queen backed away, trembling and staring at the floor, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

  “It’s Arlien. His magic is confusing you.” The scout motioned for her to come over to him. “I can help you.”

  “N-No. I need no … I don’t need your help.” Brianna turned toward the door. “I have to go.”

  “To where? Arlien?”

  As he spoke, Tavis swung his legs around and stood. He took three steps, then he realized he was trying to run on mushy lumps of flesh. He glanced down and saw black, swollen masses of toes and insteps where his feet should have been. Two searing waves of agony shot up his legs.

  “Forgive my rudeness, Majesty.”

  Tavis threw himself forward, clasping Brianna’s shoulder with one hand and grabbing the ice diamonds with the other. His fingers instantly blanched to a pallid, frozen white, and searing coldness shot up his arm. The scout did not care. He forced himself to clench the gems more tightly, then yanked the necklace off the queen’s throat.

  Brianna whirled around, pulling free of Tavis’s grasp. The mushy-footed scout fell to the floor.

  “How dare you!” the queen hissed. Her violet eyes had gone almost black with anger. “What are you doing with my ice diamonds?”

  “They’re enchanted,” Tavis explained. He continued to hold the necklace, and the coldness became an icy, stinging numbness. The feeling was similar to the one he had experienced when Bodvar had deadened the pain in his injured toe, save that it was a dozen times more chilling. “Say my name.”

  Brianna looked confused. “Your name?” she asked. The anger was fading from her eyes, but any sparkle of wit had yet to creep back into them. “Whatever for?”

  “You loved me once,” Tavis said. “Try to remember.”

  “Loved you?” she scoffed. “You’re my bodyguard! Now I know where Avner gets his crazy ideas.”

  It did not matter to Tavis that Brianna’s forgetfulness had been caused by Arlien’s magic; her words made him feel tired and weak and defeated. If she could not remember the emotions they had shared, then she remained under Arlien’s spell.

  The scout shook his head. “It’s just as well that you’ve forgotten,” he said. “Love between us could never be.”

  “Now you’re coming to your senses.” Brianna pointed at her ice diamonds. “So you will return my jewelry.”

  She reached for the necklace, but Tavis pulled it away. Even if the diamonds were not the source of the queen’s enchantment, the fact that she was wearing them now suggested that the necklace supplemented Arlien’s hold on her mind. The queen was hardly the type of woman to wear such gaudy jewelry into battle.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t return your necklace,” Tavis said. The hand holding the ice diamonds had gone so numb that he doubted he could
release his hold if he wanted to. “That would be a violation of my duty to you.”

  “I’m your queen!” Brianna spat. “I name your duty!”

  “When your mind is clear, yes,” he replied. “But not when your thoughts are chained by a spy’s magic.”

  A dull flash appeared somewhere deep behind Brianna’s eyes, then the anger slowly faded from her face. She gaped at Tavis with an expression that seemed as lost as it did suspicious. The scout locked gazes with her. They stared at each other for a long time, until a set of heavy footsteps came pounding up the corridor. Someone rapped on the door, and the queen looked away from Tavis.

  “Enter,” she called.

  The door swung open. In the corridor outside stood a squat soldier with a curly red beard. His tabard was so besmirched by soot that Tavis could barely make out the White Wolf badge of his company.

  “Majesty! What are you doing here?” In his excitement, the soldier forgot to bow. “The frost giants have frozen the channel, and even now they’re coming across with a battering ram. The main gate will fall soon. Now is the time for your special plan—”

  “Special plan?” Brianna interrupted. “What special plan?”

  “The plan that Avner said—” The soldier stopped as soon as he spoke the youth’s name. He closed his eyes in exasperation, then shook his head violently. “Damn that boy! Why would he lie about such a thing?”

  “Tell us what he said,” Tavis commanded.

  The soldier glanced down at the scout, but if he was surprised to see the queen’s bodyguard sitting helpless on the floor, his face did not show it. “The swine told us that Queen Brianna had a special plan to turn the giants back,” the man explained. “He sent me to Prince Arlien—”

  “Then Arlien’s here?” Tavis demanded. He braced his hands on a chair seat and pulled himself to his feet. “Arlien is in the castle?”

  The man nodded. “He’s with Earl Cuthbert, on the windward wall—at least until it collapses,” he confirmed. “That’s where Avner said to send …”