Then finally the echoes faded away, and the dust of crushed rock and ice began to settle. None of the firbolgs made a move, and even the princess stared upward, her posture locked in rigid awe.
A cliff like a huge face was clearly visible in the glacier's gap now. Low brows of granite sheltered shadowy niches that resembled closed eyelids, above cheekbones of mountain ledges beside an overhanging crag of a nose. The beard, of frosty gray, flowed in a thick cascade, a great slope of broken rock that in itself was the size of a high hill.
Then those ledges flexed, rising like brows as the massive eyes opened, freezing all the watchers with a gaze of ice-pure blue. The massive lips moved, rustling the beard and releasing another shower of icy shards. Awestruck, Tavish held her breath, well aware that she witnessed the awakening of a god, or the potent avatar of an elder deity.
The mighty shoulders shrugged, and more sheets of ice fell away, some of them as big as the icecap on a small pond. These, too, shattered, and now the brawny arms came free, knotted with muscle and capped with massive hands. All the surface of the great being was rock, but it was rock that seemed supple, like rough, pliable skin. The fingers, broad-knuckled and blunt, were themselves larger than the firbolgs gaping up at him from below. Finally the entire torso was revealed, though the giant from the waist down remained imprisoned in the bedrock of the earth.
Twisting, Grond Peaksmasher released another deluge of rock and ice, showering down toward those assembled below. The great pieces seemed to fall in slow motion, yet Tavish knew that any one of them could kill an unfortunate victim trapped in the path of the fall. Once again the firbolgs clawed their way back away from the crushing avalanche.
Deirdre still stood firm, unshaken by the thundering wave of destruction, nor did any of the debris fall anywhere near her. Was it the will of the god that she remained unharmed? Or perhaps some barrier of protection raised by the Silverhaft Axe? The bard couldn't know, so she could only stare in wonder at the steady courage of the young princess.
Then Tavish gasped audibly, anticipating the giant's next act even as he began slowly to move. She watched in an awe that began to grow into terror as she understood the import of the Peaksmasher's gesture.
The firbolgs, too, staggered back in dismay and consternation as the face of the giant moved closer and closer to the ground.
For the colossus that was Grond Peaksmasher leaned toward Princess Deirdre, bending so far forward that the great, craggy forehead finally met the earth.
It was a bow of absolute obeisance. Tavish understood beyond question that Grond Peaksmasher was acknowledging his new mistress.
The march beneath the Strait of Oman took the column the better part of two days, though to Tristan, it felt as though it might have been a week. The tiny pebble glowing in his hand became a kind of talisman for him as Finellen led them along dank corridors, across sweeping bridges that spanned apparently bottomless subterranean chasms, along narrow ledges that swept dizzyingly above black, empty space.
They climbed stairways of stone, and waded through knee-deep, chill water that, the dwarven captain claimed, was 'not likely' to get too much deeper. Even Newt remained quiet and subdued during the underground passage, remaining alertly vigilant on the High King's shoulder. Ranthal, meanwhile, paced along at his master's heels, the great moorhound's nose constantly sniffing the dank, stuffy air for some sign of an approaching threat.
The companions stopped to rest once for a period of several hours, but even the dwarves, who were quite at home in the underground environment, seemed to be ready to move on quickly. Tristan and the other humans slept only fitfully, the king with his hand wrapped around the gleaming pebble that he increasingly believed was the only thing preserving his sanity.
At one point, however, just before he drifted off to sleep, Tristan noticed the Prince of Gnarhelm crossing their darkened campsite, settling himself beside Alicia and speaking softly. Tristan didn't see what happened next, but as he turned away, seeking a comfortable position on the rocky floor, the light from his pebble swept across the group. He saw Keane, oblivious to everything else, staring at Brandon and the princess with an expression of raw, unrelieved tension.
Finally they resumed the march, and within a few hours Tristan noted the subterranean corridor beginning to slope upward, first gradually, as it followed a long, winding cavern that slowly ascended toward the surface. Weary and out of breath from the long uphill grade, the party slowed its pace. Finellen and Tristan kept them going until, staggering with weariness, they reached a wide stone stairway, obviously the work of dwarven craftsmen.
They climbed the steps for an apparently eternal interval-at least, it seemed that way to Tristan. He held the pebble before him, and it illuminated dozens of steps disappearing into the darkness above. When he lowered it behind him, he saw the tired faces of his companions and the trailing column of dwarves, extending into the darkness below.
"Here we are," Finellen announced eventually.
At first, Tristan noticed nothing different, but gradually he realized that the passage around them grew lighter, suffused with a dim illumination. Water trickled along the floor, and as they progressed, he heard a steady splashing, like a small waterfall. The light continued to increase until Tristan enclosed the glowing pebble in his hand and found out that he could see sufficiently to prevent a fall.
The sound of the waterfall increased, and the air itself became moist, full of partially condensed droplets. Finally they came around a bend and beheld a shimmering curtain blocking the way, beyond which blossomed pale daylight. Finellen led them along a narrow, slippery ledge, concealed from outside view by the waterfall. They had to duck through a corner of the watery barrier, but then they came out upon the bank of a small pool. Overhead, well-screened by tree branches, they could see a blue, nearly cloudless sky!
Tristan quickly raised a hand to his eyes, shielding against the shockingly bright illumination that spilled through the trees around them. The king was astonished to see that they weren't even looking at the sun or the sky. It was simply the reflection of daylight off an opposite cliff wall, though in the first blast of brightness, it seemed fully sufficient to blind him.
"It always takes a few minutes to get used to the light again," Finellen said helpfully. "You'll be able to see like normal in just a bit."
True to her prediction, the humans and dwarves quickly adapted to the light, and they wasted no time in moving into a rockbound valley. Nearby, the clear bulk of the Icepeak rose into the morning sky.
"Good navigating," Tristan said, with a grin of congratulations and relief.
"Aye," Finellen replied, pleased herself. "The glacier's on the north slope, and we're just a little to the east of the main ridge."
The party took a short time to acclimatize to the light and fresh air, also taking a few moments to rest from the long uphill climb. Their goal was too near for them to brook any long delay, however, so the column quickly resumed its march over the surface of the ground. Finellen and Tristan led the way, followed by their human companions and Brigit, and finally trailed by the resolute column of sturdy dwarves.
They passed through sun-speckled woods of pine and cedar, with the scent of evergreen needles permeating the cool morning air. On any other day, Tristan would have taken the time to enjoy the forest. It was just the kind of woods where he loved to spend long, quiet hours. He found the smell reminiscent of pastoral outings as a lad, in the company of Old Arlen, his father's loyal weaponmaster.