The Ogre's Pact (8 page)

“Avner, come here!” the scout called.

“How do you know it’s me?” cried the astonished youth.

“The birds complained,” Tavis answered. “Now do as you’re told. You’ve upset them enough.”

“I’ll be right there,” Avner replied. “Just let me get something I left back at the road.”

After a short silence, the scout heard leaves rustling and branches snapping as a horse trotted through the wood. The beast crested the hill a moment later, Avner’s proud figure seated upon its back. As the youth came nearer, Tavis saw a hawk’s-head crest embossed on the skirt of the gelding’s fine leather saddle.

“Where’d you come by that horse?” he demanded.

“I found it,” Avner answered.

“In Earl Dobbin’s stable, no doubt,” chuckled Basil, “Well done, boy.”

“Don’t encourage his dishonest ways!” Tavis turned toward Basil and saw that the runecaster had finished his symbol. The verbeeg was walking toward there, pulling Morten’s unconscious form along at his side. The bodyguard was lying flat on his back four feet on the ground, with a red, multifarious rune shimmering upon his massive chest.

Tavis shifted his glare to Avner. “The lord mayor can have you drawn and quartered for taking one of his horses,” he said. “And I’d be breaking the law if I tried to stop him.”

The color drained from Avner’s face, but he met Tavis’s gaze evenly. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t expect your to break the law.” There was a bitter edge to his voice.

“You’re being too hard on the boy,” Basil said, joining Tavis. “He was just being resourceful. How else was he supposed to catch us?”

“He wasn’t,” Tavis snapped, still scowling at Avner, “He was supposed to stay behind and look after the children.”

“Livia said she’d watch them,” Avner replied, “I wanted to be here in case you needed me.”

“What do you think I could possibly need-“

Basil’s free hand clamped down on the scout’s arm, to cutting him off. “Don’t say something you’ll regret,” he warned. “Besides, shouldn’t we hurry to Castle Hartwick? When we report Brianna’s abduction, a stolen horse will seem no big thing.”

4
Castle Hartwick

At last, Tavis reached the edge of the plateau and stopped to rest, legs aching and lungs burning after the long run from Coggin’s Rise. Just ahead, the road descended over the lip of an enormous cliff that dropped a vast distance into the blue waters of the Clearwhirl River. From the middle of the river’s deep currents rose a sheer-sided spire of granite, hundreds of feet high. Perched upon the summit of this craggy island, like a jagged white crown atop a pillar of black stone, sat the pale ramparts of Castle Hartwick.

To all appearances, the castle was as impregnable as it was huge. Flying turrets hung from every corner, and between each pair of jagged merlons stood a ballista manned by a guard in helm and breastplate. Even the towers, scratching at the clouds like a titan’s pearly lances, were constructed of granite blocks so huge a storm giant could not have toppled them.

Tavis looked back across the spruce-dotted plateau. A short distance behind him, Avner was leading the horse he had stolen from Earl Dobbin. A short length of taut rope ran between the gelding’s saddle horn and Mortal’s chest, pulling the firbolg along as though he were a cloud. Behind the floating bodyguard came Basil, staggering and wheezing, skipping forward every now and then as Blizzard nipped at his rump.

When they finally caught up. Tavis did not give them a chance to rest. “Stay together,” the scout said. “We’re almost there, and I don’t know how the sentries will react if they see a verbeeg coming down the road by himself.”

Basil’s bushy eyebrows came together. “Perhaps I should return to Stagwick and collect my books-“

“Those are Earl Dobbin’s books, not yours,” Tavis reminded him. “And you won’t be safe alone. There are a lot of patrols this close to the castle, and it could prove fatal if they came across you.”

Without awaiting Basil’s response, Tavis turned away. The road ahead ran down a narrow ledge cut into the cliffside. It passed before a small watchhouse chiseled from the living stone, then curved sharply onto a long bridge that spanned the Clearwhirl’s wide chasm.

As Tavis’s small company walked clown the road, three sentries stepped from the watchhouse door. In honor of the princess’s birthday, they had polished their armor and weapons to gleaming silver, and over their breastplates hung ceremonial tabards of red linen embossed with the king’s white stag. The two youngest men carried long halberds. The oldest, a veteran with gray hair, bore a silver-sheened battle-axe identifying him as Sergeant of the Earls Bridge.

The two youngest guards came a few paces up the road, then stopped and crossed their weapons to bar the way to the bridge. “The sergeant stayed behind, standing at the watchhouse door.

“Halt and explain yourself. Tavis!” the sergeant called, casting a suspicious eye at Basil. He made no mention of the strung bow in the scout’s hand, for the loyalty of firbolgs-and that of Tavis in particular-was well known. “Where is Lady Brianna? Why do you have her horse and bodyguard?”

“The lady has been taken by marauders.” Tavis peered over the crossed polearms, looking down the road at the sergeant. “That’s all you need know to let us pass.”

The sergeant shook his head and pointed at Morten’s body, still floating in the air. “I can’t let you cross,” he said. “Not with a verbeeg runecaster in your company.”

Tavis did not try to argue. The only thing that made humans more nervous than giants was giant magic.

“Then send word to the king of our arrival,” Tavis said. He would have suggested that Basil wait here, but feared the verbeeg might do something foolish-such as try to return to Stagwick for his books. “Rune magic or not, he’ll want to hear about Brianna.”

The sergeant came up the road and took the halberd from one of his sentries. “You heard what Tavis said-and ask High Priest Simon to come.” he said. “Maybe His Eminence can help Morten.”

“As you order, Hauk.”

“The sentry turned and sprinted down onto the Earls Bridge, a magnificent structure resting on two flying buttresses mounted into opposite sides of the canyon wall. When the guard reached the other side, he slipped between the half-open gates and disappeared inside. Within moments, curious citizens had gathered atop the castle walls, thrusting their heads between the merlons to peer at Morten’s floating body and Blizzard’s empty saddle.

The castle gates swung open, and Hauk’s sentry came scurrying out. Behind him, two members of the Giant Guard, the stone giant Gavorial and the frost giant Hrodmar, peered out of the gateway. Though the archway was fifteen feet tall, the pair had to stoop to look through the opening, filling it completely with their torsos and feces. Gavorial’s gray hide and bald head seemed a strange contrast to Hrodmar’s milky skin and unruly yellow beard, but Tavis knew they had more in common than appearances suggested. Like all members of the Giant Guard, they had been sent by their chieftains to protect Camden. In return, the king allowed traders from the giant tribes to use Hartsvale as a peaceful gathering place.

ONCE Hauk’s sentry had crossed the bridge and reclaimed his halberd from the sergeant, Gavorial’s sonorous voice echoed across the chasm. “Keep an arrow ready for that verbeeg, Tavis Burdun!” he called.

“The king’s safety rests in your hands!”

After Tavis pulled an arrow from his quiver, the two giants withdrew inside the castle. Gavorial and Hrodmar would not be coming across the Clearwhirl, for even the Earls Bridge could not support such a tremendous weight. To enter Castle Hartwick, true giants forded the Clearwhirl on the opposite side of the island, then climbed a long and wearing path to the Giants Gate.

A blast of trumpets rang out from the castle walls, then the king and his retinue appeared. A looming figure who stood more than two heads above the earls and court officials surrounding him, Camden was built as solidly as a castle tower, with thick, sturdy legs and hulking shoulders that bulged like a bear’s beneath his ermine cape. His long strides carried him across the bridge at a brisk pace, leaving his retainers to scurry along behind.

Soon, Tavis could see that Camden had already donned his ceremonial crown in preparation for the evening’s festivities. It was a gaudy band of gold with seventeen bejeweled points, one for each of the giant tribes that had pledged friendship to Hartsvale. From beneath this circlet hung the king’s two hair braids, while he wore his heavy beard trimmed into the neat square favored by the nobility.

Camden stepped off the bridge, brushing by Hauk and the two sentries without a word. He stopped directly in front of Tavis.

“What’s this about my daughter?” the king demanded. He was even taller than Brianna and could look Tavis more or less directly in the eye. “Where is she?”

Knowing of no easy way to report what had happened. Tavis said simply, “The princess has been taken by ogres.”

Camden’s face did not darken with anger, or pale with fright, or even go blank with shock. It fell with despair, as though nothing could be done about what the scout had reported.

“Ogres,” the king repeated softly.

The reaction puzzled Tavis, for Camden was a bull of a man, given to epic rages and stormy rantings. To see the king take the news as he had was akin to seeing a badger lie down and whimper as the hounds came to tear it apart.

Camden’s small entourage arrived. The retinue stopped a respectful distance away, but two men continued forward until they were within a single pace of their monarch. One was Bjordrek, whom Tavis had spoken with on two occasions, but the other the scout had never seen. The fellow was portly and bald, wearing so much gold jewelry that he sparkled like a sun dog in the afternoon light. He carried a silver staff shaped liked a fork of lightning, the symbol of the god Stronmaus.

Camden motioned the bald man toward Morten’s floating form. “Simon, see to Morten.”

Calling two assistants to help him, Simon slipped past Tavis and took charge of the floating bodyguard. The trio pulled Morten down the road to an area of level ground in front of the watchhouse, then pushed him to the ground.

As the cleric rubbed the rune off Morten’s chest, Tavis turned his attention back to Camden. “Your Majesty, have you received other reports of ogres?”

“Of course not!” the king snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Why ask such a thing?”

“Because it didn’t surprise you to hear there were ogres in the kingdom.”

Camden’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists. “What are you saying?” the king yelled. “That I allowed my daughter to fail into ogre hands?”

The scout quickly shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “But I thought that might explain why Runolf-“

“Runolf was here?”

“He stayed the night at my inn,” Tavis replied, frowning Runolf was a good soldier, and it wasn’t like him to neglect reporting his arrival to the king. “Weren’t you expecting him?”

“Not… yet.” The king’s voice was weak, his lip trembling. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then focused his gaze on Tavis. “His report wasn’t due until summer’s end.”

Though Tavis felt certain Camden was lying, he knew better than to say so. If the king wished to keep his business with Runolf secret, it was not a scout’s place to interfere.

“Your Majesty, perhaps I should finish my report,” Tavis suggested. Camden nodded, and the scout continued. “Originally, there were between eighteen and twenty-two ogres, but Morten put up a good fight and now only ten to fifteen remain. Their leader’s a shaman-probably a cunning one-and he came specifically to abduct Princess Brianna.”

The king raised his brow. “You seem to know quite a lot about these ogres.”

“Even ogres leave a trail,” Tavis replied. “I should also mention that it appears one of your subjects helped the ogres.”

The king’s eyes widened. “Do you know who?”

“Not yet,” Tavis replied. “But it won’t take long to catch them. I’ve a fair idea where to pick up the trail.”

“You?” Camden asked. “You’re no longer one of my scouts.”

“Under the circumstances-“

The king shook his head. “No. Tend to your other duties,” he ordered. “I’m sure that’s what Brianna would want.”

Hauk stepped to the king’s side. “Your Majesty, my duties keep me well informed of people’s comings and goings.” the sergeant said. “There aren’t any other scouts here, at least none of Tavis’s experience. He’s your best hope.”

Camden replied without looking at the sergeant, “It won’t delay us to summon another scout,” he said. “I’m afraid it will take a few days to organize our pursuit.”

“A few days!” Tavis burst out. “By then, the ogres will be deep in the Ice Spires! Give me a company of your guard, and I’ll have the princess home by dawn!”

Camden’s eyes narrowed. “You forget yourself, Innkeeper,” he warned. “I am the king, and you have heard my command.”

Behind the king, a distressed murmur rustled through the entourage. One of the earls, a rough-featured man named Wendel, even dared to step forward.

“Forgive me for interrupting, Your Majesty,” Wendel said. “But most of us up north arc old enough to remember fighting ogre raiders, back before you bought them off!” He ran a nervous hand over his gray-streaked beard, then continued. “Tavis is right. If we don’t go after the ogres now, they’ll disappear into the mountains. We’ll never see Brianna again.”

Wendell’s concern sprang from more than fondness for the princess, Tavis knew. Brianna was an only child, and so far Camden had failed to produce an alternate heir to the throne-this despite a series of ever younger and more beautiful queens. Romantically inclined courtiers whispered that the king’s failure was caused by grief over his first queen’s death. Whether or not that was true, Brianna’s disappearance would have grave results for Hartsvale. It seemed every power-hungry earl could boast some tenuous claim to the throne, so the princess’s well-being was all that stood between the kingdom and a struggle for succession that would make the War of Harts seem a skirmish.

It was several moments before the king faced the earl. “I appreciate your concern. Karl Wendel, but we have little choice.” The gentle words were a surprising contrast to the anger in Camden’s eyes. He ran his gaze over the entire group of earls, then continued, “Before anyone goes after these ogres, I’d like to know why they took my daughter. If any of you can answer that question, then we can send our armies after her.”