The Ogre's Pact

The firbolg went pale, the fatigue draining from his face as though he had just risen from a nap in a shady snowbank. Fixing his gaze on the woods ahead, he raised himself to his full height and tightened the buckles of his armor. "Ogre!" he hissed.

"You can't be serious," Bria

Evidently, the firbolg did not share her conviction. He pulled his helmet down and drew his huge sword. "Wait here." he said. "I'll scout the wood."

"We'll go together," Bria

"Better late than dead," the firbolg grunted. "Besides, the dance doesn't start until dusk. We've got plenty of time."

"I will have to bathe and dress," Bria

"You weren't worried about that before you found Tavis hiding the verbeeg." Morten replied. "You just want to get home so you can cry."

"Cry over a firbolg?" Bria

"Why?" asked Morten. "They'd only make his life harder."

"Fire giants will trade silver and gold for human children."

Morten shook his head. "No firbolg would do such a thing."

"We have no idea what Tavis might or might not do, but it's better not to take chances." Bria

It way common knowledge that Tavis had been born under what the firbolg's called a "red moon," meaning his mother had died in childbirth. In accordance with the tribe's stern code of justice, the infant had been held responsible for the death and banished. A visiting bear trapper had carried the babe to Stagwick's only lodge, where the kindly Isa Wirr had taken the child to raise among the kingdom's many other orphans.

"It doesn't matter who raised him." Morten said. "Tavis's, blood is firbolg. It'd freeze in his veins if he tried to sell those children into slavery."

"There's nothing I'd like to believe more." The princess had to struggle to speak around the catch in her throat. "But we can't ignore that verbeeg thief. If firbolg blood's so important, how could Tavis lie to us about him?"

Morten scowled, unable to offer an explanation.

"I know how." Bria

Morten shook his head. "No. Tavis was trained by Runolf Saemon, and I hear Runolf's a good man," he said. "The king relies on him."

"My father relies on all his soldiers. That doesn't mean he trusts them," Bria

"He was nervous," Morten replied. "Like most men when they meet you for the first time."

"Perhaps, or maybe he was nervous because he knew Tavis to be a thief." The words left Bria

Morten considered this for a time, then shrugged. "You'd know better than me," he said. "But if you're so worried about the orphans, why leave them with Tavis in the first place?"

"Because Tavis Burdun has slain frost giants with that bow of his," Bria

Morten's eyes flashed in indignation. "I'm every bit that runt's match," he growled. "I'd cleave his skull in a blow."

Bria

"All I said was I could," Morten said, his petulant tone betraying his injured pride. "There's a difference."

"I didn't mean to insult your fighting skills." It was as close to an apology as Bria

"Dobbin Manor has fifty men. Not even Tavis would fight so many." Morten said. "Why not demand the earl's help?"

"Because I don't want the lord mayor as a husband," the princess explained. "And it'd be just like the ruthless swine to keep the children hostage until I married him."

"How could he do that?" Morten demanded, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. "That would violate the law!"

Bria

With that, the princess urged her mount forward.

Morten caught Blizzard by the inane. The horse swung her head around with teeth bared, but the firbolg stiffened his arm and held her steady. The marc's mouth snapped shut two feet shy of his throat. She whi

"I can't let you enter the wood until I've had a look." Morten said. "If you can't wait, we'll just have to go back."

"Then make your search quick," Bria

Morten chuckled at the ludicrous threat. Fomorians were the most hideous and, wicked of all giant-kin, with deformed bodies and twisted, evil personalities. Comparing one to a firbolg was like comparing a turkey buzzard to an eagle, although they had descended from the same species, at heart the two were as different as could be.

"I'll hunt the ambusher down fast as I can."

The firbolg pulled his shield off his back and buckled his helmet, then strode forward. As he entered the aspen grove. The breeze rose and the flashing aspen leaves rustled more loudly, reminding Bria

Bria

Morten suddenly stopped. He spun around and raised his buckler over his head. At the same time. Bria