Basil grabbed the collar of Arlien’s backplate and pulled. The prince did not even budge. Instead, three buckles popped loose and his backplate swung free.
Basil’s jaw dropped open and his bushy eyebrows came together. He blinked rapidly, squinting and shaking his head, absentmindedly allowing his fist to open.
Arlien had a second face.
It was where the prince’s right shoulder-blade should have been, hanging upside down with its dull eyes glaring at Basil. The face was ugly and brutish, with pale skin, a pug nose, and a double-chin encrusted with dried food. The thing’s thick lips formed a spiteful sneer.
“Bad plan, Ugly!”
As the head spoke, Arlien spun around, smashing the flagon into Basil’s cheek, then driving an elbow deep into his groin. The strength left the runecaster’s legs. He dropped to his knees, in too much pain to do anything except gurgle. Arlien grabbed a handful of the verbeeg’s thin gray hair and jerked his head up, driving a knee into the runecaster’s face.
Basil’s nose shattered with a sickening crunch. His head erupted into throbbing pain and his vision fell dark. He tumbled onto his back, blood gushing from both nostrils. A sharp crack reverberated through his skull as it slammed into the floor. Something huge and heavy landed on his chest. He felt fingers-impossibly long fingers-clamping around his throat.
Still blinded by the pain of his broken nose, the verbeeg clutched at the arm above his neck. The thing was so big he could hardly close his hands around it, and it seemed to be growing larger in his grasp. He tried to push the limb away. He may as well have been trying to topple a full-grown spruce. His windpipe grew scratchy and raw. He ached to cough, but that was impossible with the fingers around his throat pinching it shut.
Think, Basil told himself. Only Arlien could be kneeling on his chest. The verbeeg did not understand why the prince weighed so much, and why he seemed to be getting larger. At the moment, that wasn’t important. All that mattered was getting that enormous hand off his throat. He could not accomplish that through force alone. To free himself, he had to apply his strength to his opponent’s weakness.
Basil considered the structure of the opposable thumb, then knew exactly what to do. He reached across the back of Arlien’s hand and grasped the base of the thumb, then pulled straight back, using the heel of his own palm like a lever against his attacker’s forearm. The prince’s grip came loose, his wrist unable to twist in the direction Basil was bending it. The runecaster’s breath returned in a long wheeze.
The verbeeg bridged on his shoulders and thrust his knee into the middle of Arlien’s back. The blow sent the prince pitching over Basil’s head. The runecaster rolled away and leaped to his feet. The sudden movement siphoned a wave of pain from his shattered nose, but the runecaster did not care. His vision was clearing, and he could see Brianna’s blurry form, trying to prop herself up on the altar.
The verbeeg grabbed the small bench that sat before the platform and spun around. Through his hazy vision, he found himself peering at the murky form of what appeared to be a two-headed giant. The brute stood so tall that he had to stoop over even in the vaulted temple. His twin necks were so short that the pair of heads seemed to sit directly atop his broad chest.
“Hiatea, save us!” the runecaster gasped. The two-headed giant was wearing the same armor Basil had nearly ripped off Arlien’s back earlier, save that the enchanted suit was now much larger. “An ettin!”
“Wrong.” The silky voice sounded much like Arlien’s, save that it was much deeper and more resonant. “ The ettin.”
Basil wasted no time asking what Arlien meant by the correction. He swung the bench at his foe’s knee. The seat snapped down the center, sending the two halves clattering across the floor. The ettin’s leg did not buckle.
It did not even twitch.
Basil glimpsed an enormous fist descending from on high, then a horrific clap sounded inside his skull. His head snapped sideways, and his feet left the ground. He slammed into a wall. The entire flank of his body erupted into pain, and a loud crack reverberated through the chamber. For one awful instant, Basil thought some part of his body had made the terrible sound. Then he felt a stone crash into his hip and realized the impact of his body had merely knocked a block from the wall.
The verbeeg raised his head and saw that his vision was no longer dim. He could see clearly enough to identify Prince Arlien’s cleft chin and patrician nose on the ettin’s second head. The features were, of course, three times their normal size.
The ettin ducked under a low-hanging beam and dropped to a knee beside Basil. The runecaster pushed away, scuttling across the floor like a crab. The ettin reached out to grab him-and the sound of booted feet came pounding up the stairway.
“In Stronmaus’s name, what’s happening up there?” It was Cuthbert’s voice. “Stop it at once, I command it!”
“Help!” Basil yelled. “Hurry, we’re in danger!”
The pounding in the stairwell grew louder and faster.
One of the ettin’s arm’s pulled back, but the other continued to reach for Basil. The brute’s enormous body twisted sideways, as though it were suffering some kind of seizure.
“Stop it, Arno!” hissed Arlien. “We don’t have time.”
“We gotta kill him, Julien!” Arno grunted. “If he lives-”
“Let me worry about that,” growled Arlien-or rather, Julien. One of the hands placed itself over Arno’s brutish face and shoved the head back over the shoulder, and Julien said, “You go back where you belong.”
As Basil struggled to his feet, both of the ettin’s hands busied themselves pulling the breastplate back into place. The giant began to shrink immediately. By the time the verbeeg had returned to his wobbly legs, the ettin was once again the size of a human. Basil grabbed the stone block that had fallen on him and raised it to hurl, but was checked by the sight of a guard rushing into the room.
“Don’t!” the man ordered. He stepped over to point his halberd at Basil’s throat. “Put it down!”
Five more soldiers streamed through the door and immediately rushed to stand at their companion’s side.
Basil reluctantly lowered his stone to the height of his chest, but did not place it on the floor. “I’m not the dangerouth one here!” The verbeeg’s smashed nose gave his voice a heavy nasal accent, while the blow to his head had left him with several broken teeth and a thick tongue. “Ith Julien!”
The guard frowned. “Who?”
“Him!” Basil pointed at the ettin disguised as a human prince. “Prince Arthlien.”
“I assure you, I pose no danger to anyone-except those who would harm Queen Brianna.” Arlien was glaring at Basil, at the same time tying his armor closed with the remnants of two torn straps. The prince glanced at the altar, where Brianna had pulled herself into a seated position. She was peering around the room with the blurry-eyed look of someone who had drunk too much wine. “Fortunately, she’s safe enough at the moment”
“That seems something of an exaggeration,” said Cuthbert, stepping into the chamber. The earl wore only his long sleeping gown, but his eyes were alert and sharp. He walked directly to the altar and, making a face at the sweet odor hanging so thickly in the air, took the queen’s arm. “Majesty, what happened? Are you well?”
Brianna tried to focus her eyes on the earl, then gave up and looked over his shoulder. “Your queen is tired,” she breathed. “Very tired.”
Cuthbert winced at the smell of her breath. “So I see.” He pulled her tattered dress back up over her shoulders, then asked, “Are you injured? It looks as though you’ve had a struggle.”
Brianna swayed, but shook her head. “Don’t worry. The queen’s not hurt.” She leveled a cross-eyed gaze at Arlien, then said, “She had a little fight”