Tavis saw one warrior immediately, lying facedown on the uphill side of a decomposing log. It took him a little longer to find the others. Although they had not selected their hiding places to camouflage themselves from someone in Tavis's location, the brutes were sitting so motionless that, in their gray cloaks, many of them looked like stumps and boulders.
Even after he had found five warriors, Tavis continued to study the ravine. The ogres' stillness puzzled him. By now the brutes were certainly curious about the silence in the side gulch. They should have been cautiously venturing into the small gully to investigate. Yet here they were, still lurking in ambush, as though the beaters were driving more prey toward them.
After a moment's consideration, Tavis realized why. They had set their trap again-this time for Morten and the earls.
The scout studied the valley below, then decided he had found all the ambushers. He pulled four arrows from his quiver, planting them tip-first into the ground, and nocked a fifth. Normally, he would have set out six shafts for five targets, just in case he missed once, but two of the ogres were standing in line, and he always took advantage of any chance to save arrows.
Tavis peered through the small gap between the saplings he had selected as cover, then took careful aim at a lobeless ear protruding above a small boulder. It was his most difficult target, for not only was it on the other side of the ravine, it was all he could see of the ogre.
Drawing his bowstring back, Tavis exhaled. He stared at the ear, blocking every thought from his mind until he was aware of nothing but his target, then he pulled his fingers away. The string throbbed and sent the arrow sizzling through the air. The shaft skimmed over the rock and struck home with a muffled thud, then both ear and arrow disappeared from sight.
In one swift motion, Tavis pulled the next arrow from the ground, nocked it, and fired at his easiest target, the ogre lying behind the decomposing log. The shaft caught the brute just as he was raising his head, ripping through the back to pierce the warrior's heart.
The scout's next arrow was in the air before the warrior died, catching the third ogre through the head as he rose from behind a juniper bush to gape at the arrow in his companion's back. The fourth and fifth stepped away from their trees, spinning around to search the hillside. Despite the obvious panic in their purple eyes, the brutes remained silent, determined not to alarm the prey their companions would soon be driving up the ravine. That suited Tavis fine. He drew his bowstring back, waited until the ogre in back stepped behind his companion, and loosed the shaft.
Tavis nocked the last arrow he had set out, but there was no need. The shaft passed cleanly through the first ogre's throat, then ripped into the breast of the one behind. This warrior did not die instantly, but with an arrow lodged in his lung, his feeble gurgles would not alarm the beaters driving Morten and the earls up the ravine.
The scout paused just long enough to make certain there were no more ogres lurking below, then returned to his companions and told them what had happened.
"So now we're free to leave?" Basil asked.
Tavis shook his head. "No, Morten and the earls are still coming up the ravine," he said. "If we go now, the ogres may drive them into the ambush yet."
"And if we don't, whoever survives the battle will definitely attack us," Avner objected. "I say we leave our enemies to each other and go while we can."
"Morten and the earls aren't our true enemies," Tavis replied. "They're only doing what they believe to be right. We can't condemn them for that."
"I don't see why not," Avner grumbled. "They condemned us for a lot less."
"We aren't leaving them to the ogres!" Tavis snapped. "Do you understand that?"
Avner met the firbolg's gaze with an angry glare. "I understand."
"Good," Tavis said. "Go down to the ravine and hide until Morten comes."
"Then what?" the youth asked. "Surrender?"
"Make sure he sees you, then lead him away from the side gulch and up the valley," Tavis instructed. "Basil and I will set up an ambush of our own. We'll pull you aside, then I'm sure Basil can do something to temporarily disable Morten and the earls." The scout cast a hopeful glance at the verbeeg.
"I can put them to sleep for a lengthy time," Basil said.
"Good," Tavis replied. "We'll treat the ogres less charitably."
"What? You're not going to spare everyone who's trying to kill us?"
Tavis scowled his reply.
Pulling a sling from inside his tunic, Avner reluctantly started down the hill.
Tavis shook his head in disappointment. "As much as I love that boy, I don't think he'll ever learn."
"He's learned much already, but his teacher was cruel indifference," said Basil. "If it's any consolation, I do believe he loves you more than he loves his own life."
"Perhaps," the scout acknowledged. "But I doubt you could say the same about his love of gold."
With that, the scout started across the hillside, angling toward an outcropping of rocks a short distance up the ravine.
Basil followed a step behind. "Now that we're alone, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."
"Can't it wait?" Tavis asked. "This lull in the fighting won't last long."
Basil shook his head. "I don't want to discuss it in front of the boy. Besides, it won't take long," he said quietly. "How much do you know about the Twilight Vale?"
"I never heard of it until Runolf spoke its name."
"That's not surprising." Basil answered. True giants consider it a sacred place. They keep it secret from all but their own kind."
"Then how do you and the ogres know of it?"
"I read about it in a tablet I borrowed from the stone giants," Basil explained. "As for the ogres, they clearly have their own ways. But the reason I raised the subject is what happens in the vale."
"What?"
"The true giants gather there once each year. The chieftains resolve their grievances in peace, the warriors drink from magical springs, and the shamans receive guiding omens from the vale's guardian, the Twilight Spirit," Basil explained. The verbeeg looked away, obviously uncomfortable, then continued. "And they conduct ceremonies of tribal union."
"Union?" Tavis asked.
"Matings between important members of different tribes," the verbeeg explained. "To guarantee good relations."
"That's ridiculous!" Tavis had to restrain himself to keep his voice low. "Brianna would never mate with an ogre!"
Basil ran a hand over his sloped brow. "Her consent wouldn't be necessary, nor did I say it was an ogre she's going to mate," the verbeeg replied. He was looking more uncomfortable by the moment. The Twilight Spirit arranges these unions for the good of all giants. Goboka might be taking her there to see a chief from any tribe."
"A human and a giant?" Tavis scoffed.
"It's no more ridiculous than a cloud giant and hill giant, and I've read of such unions." Basil replied. "The spirit's magic is most powerful."
Tavis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "It still makes no sense," he said. "Ogres aren't true giants, they're giant-kin, like you and me. Why should Goboka care what the Twilight Spirit wants?"
"Goboka is extremely powerful for an ogre shaman, both in magic and political power," the verbeeg explained. "Who do you suppose helped him get that way?"
"The Twilight Spirit," Tavis concluded. "And in return, the spirit received a small and stealthy ally to send after Brianna."
Basil nodded. "There are some tasks giants just can't do-at least not if you want them done quietly."