"We still have plenty of time," Tavis said. "And those bones could be the spy's."
Basil snorted his derision. "Why would the shaman eat his own spy?" he demanded. "That has to be Brianna back there."
"What you say makes sense," Tavis allowed. He had a lump in his throat that felt like it might choke him, and he wasn't sure that he cared if it did. "But I must be sure. You go on ahead while I look around."
"Go ahead where?" Basil demanded.
Tavis gestured up the ravine.
"I stand a better chance against Morten than trying to climb that mountain-especially alone," Basil hissed.
"Don't you have a rune that could help?"
"Of course. I have runes that will transform me into mountain goats, birds, even snow apes-but that cliff is a high one. What happens when I change back to a clumsy verbeeg in the middle of the ascent?" Basil asked. "I'm better off staying here to help you look."
The verbeeg turned his eyes to the ground and wandered away to search the hillside. Tavis went to the largest group of dead lions and kneeled down. The area was littered with bone shards and scraps of cloth, while the rocky ground beneath the beasts was coated with stale blood-some of it forming pools so deep that it still had not dried. The scout rubbed his fingertips in the sticky mess and raised the digits to his nose. The syrup smelled vaguely of iron and spoiling meat, and from that he concluded it had probably come from a human. It didn't slink enough to be ogre, and the amount of it on the claws and feet of the mountain lions suggested it had come from their prey and not themselves.
Tavis pulled a scrap of cloth from the blood pool and rubbed it between his fingers. The fabric was wool, coarsely spun but tightly woven-the same material from which his own cloak had been made.
Basil came over and squatted down at the scout's side. "I'm sorry to show you this." The verbeeg opened his hand. In his palm lay a tiny flaming-spear amulet attached to a silver chain. "This is the symbol of Brianna's goddess, is it not?"
Tavis pocketed the scrap of cloth he had picked up, then took the talisman. The amulet itself was in good condition, but the chain had been broken and several links were coated with dried blood. "Show me where you found this."
Basil led him across the hill, to where a single dead mountain lion lay on its side. Although the beast had been badly mutilated, there was little sign of blood in the area.
"It was below this lion." The verbeeg led the way down the hill, then stopped and waved his hand over the rocks, "I can't remember where exactly, but this was the general area."
Save for a few rocks Tavis and his companions had turned over during their descent, the area looked undisturbed.
"Did you see any blood?" Tavis asked.
The verbeeg shook his head. "No, but you saw those stains."
"They don't matter." The scout allowed himself a deep sigh of relief, then slipped Brianna's talisman into his cloak pocket and smiled. The princess will be pleased to have her amulet back. I'll be sure to tell her you were the one who found it."
"You've lost your wits!" said Basil. "That's blood on the amulet's chain!"
Tavis nodded. "True. Brianna probably suffered a cut, or perhaps the blood came from someone else," he said. "But those are the spy's bones down there, not hers."
Basil narrowed his eyes. "You're just saying that so-" Realizing the folly of accusing the firbolg of lying, the verbeeg let the allegation drop in midsentence. "How do you know?"
Tavis reached into his pocket and removed the scrap of fabric he had recovered earlier. "I found this back there." He pointed across the hill to where he had found the mountain lions lying amidst the scraps of bone and pools of blood. That's where our human was killed-by Brianna's creatures."
Basil pointed at the fabric in Tavis's hands. "And I sup-pose that scrap confirms this?"
Tavis nodded, passing the cloth to him. "Coarse wool like this didn't come from the clothes of a princess."
Basil's gray eyebrows came together. "Perhaps the ogres gave her a cloak."
"Ogres don't spin wool," Tavis countered.
"I mean to suggest they stole it for her," said the verbeeg.
"Did you see any dead men between here and the castle?" Tavis demanded. "Or perhaps you think they'd simply take a man's cloak without bothering to kill hint?"
"If they look it on the way in, we wouldn't have come across the body," Basil insisted.
"The ogres wouldn't have done that," the firbolg answered. "As they snuck into the valley, they'd avoid killing. A dead man's companions might notice his absence and sound an alarm."
"Speaking of alarms, it's time for us to go," said Avner.
The youth pointed down the mountainside, to where the small company's pursuers were just coming through, the stunted spruce hedge at timberline. Still carrying their lances and heavy shields, the earls remained mounted, kicking and cursing their horses as they forced the poor beasts up the treacherous slope.
"If they're going to chase me, those earls would do well not to abuse their mounts."
Tavis removed Bear Driller from his shoulder and loosed an arrow. Although the distance was far too great for most archers, the scout was able to place his shaft a few paces directly behind the lead rider. The near miss caused all the earls to draw up short and jump off their mounts. They took cover among the rocks, leaving Morten to clamber up the slope alone.
"What's wrong with that firbolg?" demanded Basil. "How can he be so certain you won't fire at him?"
"I don't think he cares," Tavis replied. "After losing Brianna to the ogres, he'd rather take an arrow than fail his king again."
"Then let's go," Basil said. "I've no desire to let any firbolg reclaim his honor at my expense."
"That won't happen," Tavis said. The scout led the way to the mouth of the steep ravine. "Once we're up there in the gorge, even Morten won't follow."
"Why not?" Avner asked.
"Because he's not going to redeem himself by committing suicide," Basil said. "Which is exactly what he'll be doing if he tries to come after us while a clumsy verbeeg's up above him. I'm sure to send half the rocks in the ravine tumbling down on him-if I don't fall and crush him myself."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind, but Morten's too smart to risk an ambush up there," said Tavis. The scout would have suggested that Basil paint himself with the same rune he had used to levitate Morten, but the process would take far too long. "Unfortunately, we're going to have difficulties of our own. I can't help you both."
"Help me? Up that?" Avner scoffed, looking up the ravine. It was little more than a rock chute, so steep that, had there been a stream running through it, it would have been a waterfall. That's a stairway compared to some of the walls I've scaled."
Avner stepped in the ravine and began his ascent. He moved swiftly and surely, never taking more than one hand or foot off the rock, or lingering in one place more than a moment. The youth found handholds on the tiniest knobs of rock and braced his feet on stone faces so sheer it was hard to imagine what kept them from slipping. Tavis had seen many excellent climbers in his time-himself among them-but the boy put them all to shame.
Once Avner had ascended a short distance, Tavis nodded to Basil. "Your turn," he said. "You're big enough that you can climb the ravine like a chimney. Press an arm and a leg against each side, then move them up one at a time. I'll be right behind you in case you need help."
The verbeeg licked his lips. "You're sure I can do this?"