“That is not for you to decide, Sharpnose!” Halflook’s voice had turned deep and gravelly. “You are no chief.”
Tavis turned and saw the shaman’s single eyeball rolling back in its socket. Hagamil was returning much earlier than expected.
“Halflook!” the scout shouted. “Our business is not done!”
“Go with Slagfid.” The voice was Halflook’s, but it sounded rather strained. “He’ll show you to one of Bodvar’s mammoths.”
“I no longer wish a mammoth,” Tavis said. “I’ll trade the beast for this little traell.” He gestured at Avner.
A chorus of thunderous laughter echoed off the cavern walls.
“Do not insult us, Sharpnose,” warned Slagfid. He glanced into the pit, where the remorhaz was devouring the last of the ogre. “Watching Little Dragon fight the worm is worth at least ten mammoths.”
“Is it worth-”
“It doesn’t matter what you pay!” To Tavis’s astonishment, the speaker was Avner. “I’d rather stay and fight than become a stone giant’s slave!”
Tavis scowled down at the youth. Avner couldn’t have forgotten his true identity!
“Even if they gave me to you, I wouldn’t go.” The boy pointed to the exit. “So you might as well leave, Gavorial.”
The scout raised his brow. Avner was trying to tell him something, probably that he had hidden Bear Driller someplace nearby. Unfortunately, Tavis did not see how that helped matters.
Still peering down at Avner, the scout said, “At the moment, what you want is not important. I have better uses for you than feeding ice worms.”
“But the traell is not your catch,” growled Hagamil’s voice.
A mass of yellow hair was sprouting on the shaman’s head, but the giant still had only a single, red-veined eye. The orb was fluttering up and down in its socket, as though Halflook were fighting to retain control of the body.
“Leave!” the shaman urged. “I doubt Hagamil will honor my promise.”
“You heard him!” Avner called. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner you’re gone, the better!”
Tavis shrugged. “It seems I have no choice.” He looked down at Avner, hoping to give the youth one last warning. “But I think you’ll be surprised at how difficult it is to kill a remorhaz. I’m sure you’ll wish you were going home with me instead of dancing across its back with a burning spear in your hand.”
An expression of bewilderment flashed across Avner’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a disdainful sneer. “The only place I’d rather be is with Tavis.” The youth cast a nervous glance toward the pit, then added, “And I’ll be joining him soon enough.”
Slagfid grabbed Tavis by the wrist “Let’s go,” the frost giant urged. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”
The scout limped after his escort. The effects of Bodvar’s ice diamond were wearing off, and his injured toe was starting to pain him.
Outside, a stiff wind had risen. It was whistling through the gaps between the nunataks, carrying with it a scouring stream of ice pellets. A ferocious-looking bank of storm clouds was rolling over the caldera’s northern rim, its leading edge gleaming silver in the moonlight It seemed to Tavis that he could actually feel the temperature dropping.
“It appears there’s quite a storm coming our way,” the scout commented.
Slagfid paused long enough to turn his face into the pelting ice crystals. “Yes, it promises to be a glorious blizzard!” he shouted. “Thrym favors us!”
The frost giant smiled broadly, then led the way to the water hole that the mammoths had gouged in the frozen lake. Although Tavis could hear the ice groaning beneath the beasts’ immense weight, Slagfid did not show the slightest hesitation as he walked out to them. The scout decided to wait on shore, suspecting that if the ice broke, the cold would affect him far more than the frost giant.
Slagfid waded into the herd, looking remarkably similar to a human shepherd pushing his way through a flock of goats. The frost giant stooped over and began grabbing ears. He tipped each beast’s head back so that he could inspect the left tusk, no doubt looking for an ownership mark etched into the ivory. The mammoths trumpeted their protest and occasionally tried to push him away, but the creatures were no match for the giant’s strength. He simply stood his ground and grabbed each animal’s trunk, pinching it shut until the beast stopped struggling.
The frost giant had sorted through about half the herd when the creatures began flapping their ears and changing positions, aligning themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with their heads pointed into the wind. They raised their trunks and let out an intimidating wail, slashing their long tusks through the air and pawing at the ice.
The vibrations caused a large slab of ice to break free, dropping three mammoths and Slagfid into the frigid lake. The plunge didn’t bother any of them. The beasts simply wrapped their trunks around the legs of the closest herd members, then hoisted themselves up with one or two clumsy leaps. No water dripped out of their matted fur, for it had turned to ice the instant the animals had left the lake. Slagfid followed the mammoths’ example, save that he used his hands instead of a prehensile trunk.
The frost giant peered in the same direction as the mammoths. “What’s wrong over there?” he demanded, knocking ice chunks off his body. “Do you see anything?”
Tavis glanced in the direction the giant indicated. “Yes: snow, ice, and shadows.”
The scout did not add that one of the shadows looked to be about the size of a traell. The fellow was lying behind a jagged ridge of ice, with a long bow that could only be Bear Driller on the ground in front of him. Apparently, Avner had recruited some help at the bottom of the glacier. That was why he had been so confident.
Slagfid peered at the shore a moment longer, then shrugged. “Probably bears. Little vermin like that scares mammoths as bad as dragons.” He turned to face the herd again, then shook his head and swore, “By the Endless Ice Sea! Now I’ve got to start over!”
Avner dangled upside down at the end of a greasy rope. A pair of rusty shackles bound his ankles, and in his hands he clutched a blade-tipped spear. The remorhaz danced on the ice almost thirty feet below.
At the top end of Avner’s rope, Hagamil and Halflook were carrying on a bizarre quarrel. The argument would have been comical had the youth’s life not depended on the outcome.
“The body belongs to me until morning!” said Halflook. “If you want to set Little Dragon against the worm, you can wait.”
“By morning, we’ll be on our way.” Hagamil’s gravelly voice rasped from the same mouth out of which Halflook’s had just come. “It’s a long way to Split Mountain.”
“Split Mountain?” snarled Halflook. “We should have left yesterday!”
As the pair argued, Avner slipped his spear between his knees. He took his lockpicking tools out of his belt pouch, then laboriously raised his body up until he could grab his shackle chains. Once the giants dropped him, he would need his mobility-at least if he intended to survive until Tavis returned.
“Hey, what’s Little Dragon doing?” called one of the frost giant spectators. “Is he tryin’ to cheat?”
“Yeah! Ain’t he smart?” answered another. “Just like Slagfid said!”
Hagamil and Halflook glanced briefly at their captive, but made no move to prevent him from unlocking his shackles. Apparently, it was okay to cheat at frost giant games. Under different circumstances, Avner might have enjoyed the company of his captors.
“I would’ve left the day before yesterday,” Hagamil said, continuing the argument. When he spoke, his second eye hung half-descended into the socket. “But we had to wait ’til Slagfid killed Tavis Burdun. So now we’ve gotta do this thing with Little Dragon tonight.”
The first shackle came loose with a pop. Avner twined his arm around the rope, then slipped the pick into the second lock.
“Fine,” Halflook said. “Then I get to watch the match.”
Avner twisted the pick, and the lock popped open. His feet swung free, leaving the shackles in place and him dangling above the remorhaz by a single arm.