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Behind this cocoon sat a crude heater that the ogres had made by filling the top of a firbolg's skull with bear fat and lighting it. The resulting flame was orange and rank, exuding an oily smoke that had already stained much of the cliff above it with a grimy black soot.
Tavis started to loosen the rope, then thought better of it. If he startled Bria
The scout glanced up and saw that Morten had reached his station. The burly firbolg sat with his back to the cliff and his feet braced against the glacier, holding him in place. His mighty battle-axe rested across his lap, and in his throwing hand he held his dagger. The bodyguard glanced down and waved an impatient hand toward the cocoon.
Tavis slipped his hand into the breathing hole, intending to keep Bria
Stifling a scream, the scout tried to pull his hand back, but found it held in place by a pair of powerful jaws. The teeth began to work back and forth, cutting their way toward the delicate tendons of the thumb. To keep from smashing his free fist into the cocoon, Tavis had to remind himself that it was Bria
The scout set aside the skull-lamp, then pulled bis dagger, quickly cut the rope, and ripped the skins open. The face inside was gaunt and haggard, with wind-burned cheeks and dry, red skin. Glacier-glare had reduced the eyes to a pair of sunken, bloodshot pits, while the brilliant mountain sun had burned the nose to a deep shade of ruby. Despite its condition, Tavis found the face more beautiful than ever. It belonged to Bria
The princess opened her mouth, pulling her teeth away from the scout's bleeding hand. "You!" she croaked.
Tavis smiled. "That's right. I've come to save you."
Bria
"How much is the reward?" she demanded.
"Reward?" Tavis echoed, stu
Bria
"Nothing!" Tavis snapped. "The king-"
The scout stopped himself in midsentence, realizing that now was no time to tell the princess about her father's betrayal.
"What about the king?" Bria
Tavis shook his head. "The king didn't offer to pay me anything," he said. The scout pulled Bria
The princess's mouth fell open. "Where'd you find it?"
"The same place you lost it," he replied curtly.
Tavis turned away and untied the rope from his belt, then sat down on the ledge to pull up Avner and the earl.
"What are you doing?" the princess asked, peering over his shoulder. The bitterness had gone from her voice, but it had not been replaced by any hint that she felt sorry for how she had treated him so far.
"I'm hauling up two people who risked their lives on your behalf," Tavis said.
As the scout fed the rope through his hands, slivers of fiery light began to flicker across the ledge. He glanced back and found Bria
"Save some of your healing magic," he said. "These humans are dying of cold and need your help-if it isn't too much trouble for Your Highness."
"Of course not." If the princess noticed the reproach in Tavis's voice, she showed no sign. "Who are they?"
"Avner and Earl Dobbin."
"Really!" Bria
Tavis did not bother to answer, and before the princess could say anything more an alarmed war cry sounded from above. The scout looked up to see Morten flinging his dagger at something across the glacier.
"Morten?" Bria
"He came with us," Tavis explained.
The scout redoubled his efforts to pull his companions up, but raising two humans over such a distance was not an easy task, even for a firbolg.
Bria
Tavis did not yield the line. "They're too heavy."
"Don't be ridiculous," the princess said. She grabbed the rope about a foot below Tavis's hands, then began to raise the humans almost as fast as the scout had been doing. "After all, I am a Hartwick."
"So I see," Tavis said, standing. Like almost everyone in Hartsvale, he knew of the supernatural strength of Bria
Without waiting for a reply, Tavis climbed up to help Morten. By the time he reached the top of the chasm, the bodyguard had already disappeared onto the glacier. From the constant chime of clanging weapons, it sounded as though the firbolg was hard-pressed to defend himself against the ogre pack.
Tavis braced his back against the granite cliff and peered over the lip of the glacier. Directly ahead lay two dead ogres, one with a dagger through his throat and the other missing a head. Morten stood a short distance away, surrounded by the whirling clubs and darting spears of more than a dozen of Goboka's savage warriors.
What the scout saw on the other side of the glacier concerned him more than Morten's situation. The shaman's huge figure was just cresting a ridge of moonlit snow. He was coming, with a large troop of warriors at his back, from the direction of the ice hut. Tavis didn't understand how Goboka had reacted so quickly to his failed plan. The ice hut was on the far side of the glacier, too far away for the shaman to have heard the fight between Morten and the sentries guarding Bria
The scout drew his sword and thrust the tip into the soft snow, using it as a handhold while he pulled himself onto the glacier. A dozen paces away, Morten continued to battle the ogres, spi
Once he felt the glacier beneath his feel, Tavis hefted his sword and silently rushed across the snow, a