Cuthbert motioned three of his guards toward the prince, then asked, “With who? Arlien?”
“Of course not!” the imposter snapped. He kept his eyes locked on the queen’s as he spoke. “I’m the one who came to her aid-isn’t that right, Brianna?”
Cuthbert’s eyes flashed in anger. “Prince Arlien, tonight I will ask the questions! Is that clear?”
“As you wish-tonight”
The earl turned back to Brianna. “Who did you fight with, Majesty?”
“The queen fought with… the prince,” Brianna answered, thinking hard. Her eyes turned in the imposter’s direction, then she asked, “Why would Arlien fight with her? He loves her! Maybe the queen was dreaming.”
Cuthbert eyed her tattered dress. “You weren’t dreaming.”
Brianna scowled. “The queen was dreaming!” she insisted. “Don’t you argue!”
The earl rubbed his fingers across his eyes, then turned to the imposter. “What happened here?”
“It wasn’t a fight-at least not until Basil arrived,” Arlien replied. “When I came to check on Her Majesty, I found her extremely disoriented from her long vigil before the altar. I was trying to convince her to drink a restorative when Basil charged in and attacked. I don’t see how he could have thought I was threatening her, but I suppose it is vaguely possible.”
Cuthbert looked at the runecaster and scowled. “Well?” he demanded. “What do you have to say?”
Basil pointed his battered chin at the prince. “Thath man ith an impothter-an ettin!”
The earl rolled his eyes. “An ettin?”
“Hith armor keepth him dithguithed,” said Basil. “That’th why he never taketh ith off!”
The imposter stepped toward Brianna. “My injury isn’t entirely healed. As I’ve already explained, my armor’s magic won’t finish the process if I remove it, even temporarily.” The prince began to undo the straps he had just tied together. “But if the queen wishes, I shall remove my breastplate and show her what’s underneath.”
“Waith! Keep away from the queen!” Basil snapped, remembering how quickly the ettin had appeared the last time Arlien’s armor had opened. Still holding the rock in his hands, the verbeeg waved the guards toward the prince. “Be ready. The change will come very fatht!”
The imposter rolled his eyes, then stopped untying his breastplate straps. “I’ll wait until you’re ready, Basil.” The prince glanced at Brianna, who sat wobbling at the edge of the altar, then added, “Providing it is the queen’s wish that I ruin my armor’s enchantment to defend myself against the charges of a known thief and liar.”
Brianna shook her head. “The queen wishes… no such thing,” she slurred. “She can attest to who you are.”
“I don’t think you can attest to much of anything at the moment, Majesty,” said Cuthbert “Perhaps we would all sleep better if the prince did show us what’s beneath his armor.”
“No!” Brianna shouted. She frowned, startled by the vigor of her own voice, then fixed her glassy eyes on the earl. “When the fighting starts… tomorrow, we’ll need him at his best. I–I forbid him to remove his armor.”
The earl raised his brow, but inclined his head. “Then perhaps we should all return to our chambers. We’ll sort this out in the morning, when Her Majesty is, ah-” The earl gave Brianna a sideways glance, then finished, “When she’s feeling a little more like herself.”
“No! Thath’ll be too lathe!” Basil blurted. “She could be gone by then!”
“Gone?” Cuthbert demanded. “How could she go any place?”
“Don’t you thee?” the runecaster explained. “The printhe ith an impothter. He’th here to kidnap her.”
“I can assure you there won’t be any kidnappings tonight, my friend,” the earl hissed. “Everyone will be locked in his or her own chamber, and even an ettin can’t fight past all the guards I intend to post around Queen Brianna tonight.”
Arlien’s eyes flashed with irritation, but he did not object. “A wise precaution, Earl.” He glanced in Basil’s direction, then said, “I’d like to make a suggestion myself.”
“You can suggest anything you like,” Cuthbert replied.
The imposter accepted this with a polite smile. “Thank you,” he said. “Given that our verbeeg friend has already escaped a locked chamber, perhaps he should be relocated to a cell in your dungeon.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” said Cuthbert
“Really? How many more of those do you wish to lose?” Arlien pointed toward the entrance.
Cuthbert’s eyes followed the imposter’s finger toward the door. As soon as they fell on the folio Basil had left leaning against the wall, the earl’s face turned scarlet.
A sly smile crossed the imposter’s lips. “It occurs to me we might be looking at the purpose behind Basil’s accusations,” he said. “He hoped to distract us with that ridiculous lie about the ettin so you wouldn’t noticed that he had filched one of your ancestral treasures.”
“Quite so!” Cuthbert fumed. He tore his eyes away from the folio and bowed to the imposter. “Good prince, you have my thanks for bringing this to my attention, and my apologies for questioning your honor.”
Arlien smiled politely. “All is forgotten.”
The prince had barely replied before Cuthbert was spinning toward Basil. He motioned to the three soldiers guarding the runecaster. “Take that verbeeg to the dungeon!” he commanded. “Manacle him to the wall, and I swear if he escapes, it’ll be a month in the stocks for both of you!”
“But you’re making a terrible mithtake!” Basil objected.
“Go!” the earl roared. “And if he shows the slightest hint of resisting, run him through!”
One of the soldiers prodded Basil toward the door. “You’d best be going.”
The runecaster reluctantly moved to obey. “Tell me, are the dungeon thellth very large?”
“Yeah, they’re real big,” snorted the guard. “You’ll just about have room to sit up.”
12
With clenched jaw and sweating palms, Tavis watched the sentry herd Avner through the crowded ice cavern. The trip was a slow one, for every frost giant in the chamber insisted on inspecting the prisoner dubbed “Little Dragon.” Many even dropped to their hands and knees for a closer look, blocking the youth’s path until his puzzled escort shoved them away. Slagfid followed close behind the guard, trying not to look surprised by the boy’s unexpected arrival.
To Tavis, the wait seemed forever. A dozen different questions were pounding inside his head, most notably how he was going to get Avner out of the cave before Hagamil returned. The scout was also curious about where the boy had come by the bearskin parka he now wore, and what had happened to Bear Driller. Neither the boy nor his guard were carrying the firbolg’s bow or quiver.
But, more than any other answer, the scout wanted to know how Halflook had discerned that the sentry had captured the boy. Did the shaman’s mystical sight also allow him to see through Tavis’s disguise? That would certainly explain why the giant had insisted that his guest stay until the “surprise” arrived.
At last, the sentry pushed his way past the last curious frost giant and stopped in front of Halflook. Standing between the two giants, Avner seemed incredibly small. The thought of him holding Slagfid’s war party at bay seemed as absurd as a mad squirrel holding a bridge against fifteen armored knights.
“Halflook, call Hagamil,” ordered the sentry. “Tell him I caught this traell trying to sneak into camp.”
“Hagamil’s sleeping,” the shaman replied. “He already knows about this captive-though he’s under the impression that Slagfid bears the honor for capturing him.” Halflook’s red-veined eye shifted to Slagfid’s face.
“That’s a lie!” The sentry scowled at Slagfid. “You can see for yourself I’m the one who gots him!”
“But Slagfid had him first,” Tavis pointed out, taking a lesson from Avner. If he could start a fight between the two giants, he stood a reasonable chance of snatching the boy and escaping during the confusion. “By rights, the honor belongs to Slagfid.”