Tavis leaned against the map case. It slid open with a harsh, grating sound.
“Down you go, Majesty!” The scout pushed Brianna into the stairwell, keeping himself half turned toward the doorway.
Arlien stepped into the room and booted Cuthbert’s lifeless body aside. Although the armored corpse probably weighed as much as a small bear, the kick sent it tumbling halfway down the wall. Tavis slipped an arm around Brianna’s neck, then drew his dagger and pressed the tip to her throat. “Don’t come any farther,” the scout warned. “You know what I’m sworn to do.”
“You won’t kill her.” Arlien’s voice had a hoarse, throaty sound. “You’re in love with her.”
The prince stepped forward, more or less dragging one of his legs. Apparently, he had not escaped the rampart collapse completely without injury.
Tavis lightly drew the dagger across Brianna’s throat, opening a shallow cut. She cried out in a groggy voice, and the scout turned her toward Arlien to display the gash.
“I’m a firbolg,” he said. “I’ll do my duty.”
Arlien stopped four steps into the room. The prince asked, “Why don’t we let the queen decide?” He stretched a hand toward Brianna. “Come to me, my dear.”
The queen’s body stiffened ever so slightly, and she tossed her head, as if trying to clear it. “Arlien?” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
The prince gestured her forward. “I’ve come for you.” His voice had a sharp edge. “Come here.”
Brianna tried to pull away, but Tavis would not release her. He backed into the secret tunnel, starting down the stairs. As he tried to pull the queen after him, she shot one hand up through the crook of his arm and drove her other elbow into his ribs. The scout dropped backward and descended the stairs in a controlled tumble, grunting and slapping the stone steps to make the fall sound as convincing as possible.
At the top of the stairs, Brianna walked slowly forward.
“Arlien, I thought…” She let the thought trail off, allowing Tavis time to reach the bottom of the stairwell and regain his feet “I thought you had abandoned me.”
“Never, my dear,” said the prince. “Now come to me.”
Brianna moved forward, stepping out of Tavis’s sight. The scout pulled his bow off his shoulder and the golden arrow from his quiver, then bounded up the stairs. He trained his golden arrow on the center of the queen’s back.
“Majesty, no!” he yelled.
Brianna slowly turned, then Arlien’s hand flashed up and pulled her back. The prince stepped forward, placing his body between her and the golden shaft, and cocked his warhammer to throw. Tavis raised his aim, pointing his arrow over his foe’s shoulder at the queen’s head.
“She’s taller than you,” the scout warned. “I’ll kill her.”
Arlien did not throw his weapon. Behind him, Brianna reached for her hand-axe, and Avner slipped from his hiding place.
“What do you want?” asked Arlien.
“I want you to tell Lanaxis that he can’t have Brianna-even if she is the first queen of Hartkiller’s line.” Avner had told Tavis and Brianna about Basil’s discoveries. “And I want her back.”
Brianna freed her axe, then held it poised to strike. Avner reached for a torch.
Arlien’s eyes narrowed. A cunning smile crossed his lips, and he said, “If you know her ancestry, then you also know our blood runs strong in her veins. I can only imagine how your earls will feel when they learn-”
As Avner slipped his torch from the sconce, the prince suddenly fell silent and cocked an ear.
“Now, Brianna!” Tavis yelled.
The queen brought her hand-axe down, not attacking the prince but slicing the buckles off his breastplate. With her free hand, she grabbed his collar and pulled, ripping the armor off.
“By the titan, what are you doing?” The prince whirled on Brianna, more confused than angry.
Tavis drew his bowstring taut, training his arrow on the center of the prince’s back. In the same instant, Avner stepped forward, bringing his torch down on Arlien’s weapon hand.
The prince roared in pain and dropped his hammer. His hand instinctively jerked away, then snapped back into the youth’s face just as reflexively. The impact launched the boy across the room, his nose flattened and a spray of teeth flying from his mouth.
“Avner!” Brianna cried.
The boy crashed into a map cabinet and crumpled to the floor. The burning torch slipped from his limp hand, rolling across the cold stones to the base of a cabinet filled with vellum maps. Tavis loosed his golden arrow and rushed up the stairs, and Brianna swung her axe at the prince’s neck. But even as their weapons flashed through the air, Arlien was exploding to his true size, dropping his helmet and leg armor as a molting locust sheds its exoskeleton.
When Brianna’s axe struck, the prince had grown so tall that the blade hit his weapon arm instead of his neck. And by the time Tavis’s arrow arrived, Arlien’s shoulders were pressed against the ceiling. The shaft sank not into his back, but deep into his thigh.
The prince did not even feel the missile strike, for Basil’s rune magic prevented the shaft from causing any pain. The arrow paled to the color of ivory. A glassy yellow cast spread outward from the wound, turning the flesh of the entire leg as flaxen and glossy as gold. The knee buckled, and Arlien crashed to the floor. He landed on his side, his body so huge that it completely hid Brianna from the scout’s sight.
The flaxen death magic lost its vigor as it crept past the ettin’s hip, so that by the time it was spreading up Arlien’s back, his flesh was no longer turning yellow and lustrous. His skin merely paled to a dull, jaundiced color, his ribs continuing to rise and fall as the astonished prince gasped for breath.
Tavis cursed himself for not anticipating the explosive change in size, then pulled another arrow from his quiver. As he nocked the shaft, the ettin rolled toward him and the scout found himself looking up into Julien’s swarthy face. Arno’s brutish head, desiccated and lifeless, lay flopped over the festering sore where the runearrow had detonated during the blizzard.
Tavis quickly loosed his arrow. The shaft disappeared into the knotted muscles of the ettin’s massive neck, and Julien roared. The scout glimpsed a great hand arcing toward him from the ceiling, then his entire body went numb as the enormous fist smashed into his chest, shattering bones from his clavicle to his lowest ribs. He bounced off the sliding map case and dropped into the secret passage, listening to his own bones crunch and grind as he bounced down the stairs.
By the time he reached the bottom, the agony was beginning to set in. Every breath sent stabbing pains shooting through his chest and abdomen, while the anguish in his left shoulder was so fierce that he knew even attempting to move the arm would prove futile. He rolled to his knees, but grew dizzy and nearly fainted when he tried to stand.
Tavis smelled smoke. He looked up the staircase and saw dark fumes curling down the passage. That was when he thought of Avner. The youth’s torch had not rolled far after being dropped. If the map cabinets were on fire, it would not be long before the boy burned as well. The scout dragged himself up a stair, then saw Julien dropping to his belly at the top of the passage.
Tavis grabbed his bow and quiver and lay on his back, his feet pointing up the stairs. The ettin thrust a torch into the passage, but Brianna suddenly leaped into view, swinging her hand-axe at his temple. Julien glimpsed the attack at the last instant and turned away. A loud crack echoed through the chamber as the blade scraped along his huge skull.
Blood sprayed in all directions, but Tavis guessed that Julien had suffered only a superficial scalp wound-messy, but hardly fatal. Using his good arm, the scout hooked his bow over his toes, then nocked an arrow.
Julien looked at Brianna. “Stay away!” he growled, shoving her back. “You can’t save him now.”
The ettin thrust his long arm back into the passage, trying to reach Tavis with the torch in his hand. The scout fired, and his wooden arrow sank deep into his attacker’s forearm. The flaming brand dropped harmlessly on the stairs.