"I see that," Basil allowed. "But I still don't know why you think it was a shaman."

"If an enemy has proven himself strong or cunning, an ogre shaman eats the corpse to enslave the enemy's spirit." Tavis explained. "Morten was too big to take with them, so the shaman started to eat him here."

"Then why didn't he finish?" Basil asked. "I've never met an ogre shaman, but I know enough about magic to tell you it doesn't work unless you perform the ritual completely and correctly."

"My guess is he didn't have time," Tavis explained. "Someone's working with them, and that person wouldn't have wanted to wait around for the shaman to eat an entire firbolg. So they left Morten for dead and went on their way."

Basil considered this for a time, then nodded. "Of course, they must have a spy," the verbeeg said. "If the ogres came after Brianna specifically, then someone told them she'd be riding back from your inn today."

"And that person also warned them about Morten."

"It sounds to me as though we're talking about anyone who lives between Stagwick and Castle Hartwick," Basil said, "Let's concentrate on motives. Why do the ogres want Brianna? Ransom?"

Tavis shook his head, "They're more direct. If they wanted treasure, they'd just steal it," he said. "And the only use they have for humans is as meals or slaves- but I can't imagine why they'd single out Brianna for that. There are plenty of easier targets near the border lands."

"Then perhaps it's the spy who wants her," Basil replied. "Is there anyone who'd profit if she disappeared, or who could use her as hostage?"

"Any number of earls, I suppose," Tavis replied. "They're always trying to grab more power, but it's a rare earl who knows the mountains well enough to find an ogre camp-much less keep himself from being eaten and strike a bargain with the shaman."

"Then I fear we won't know why Brianna was taken until we learn who's behind it," the verbeeg said. He fell into a thoughtful silence, then let out a heavy sigh. "That leaves you with only one unpleasant option: Chase the ogres down yourself."

"There's nothing I'd like more," Tavis replied. Though he realized Basil was trying to exclude himself from such a dangerous prospect, at the moment the scout saw no purpose in commenting on the verbeeg's cowardice. "But we won't save Brianna by getting ourselves killed. The ogres outnumber us by five to one, and even I'm not that good."

Basil raised an eyebrow. "I take it you counted tracks?"

Tavis shook his head. "No, the battlefield's too trampled for that," he said. "But our foes are at least ten: one to bear each of their dead or wounded fellows, one to carry Brianna, and the shaman-who would consider himself above carrying anything. On the other hand, we can assume there are no more than fourteen in the party, or they would have taken Morten to eat later."

"A pleasant thought, that," Basil said. "So what do we do?"

"Go to the castle and report what we've learned," Tavis replied. He stepped over to a sapling. "But first we'll have to prepare a litter for Morten."

"Don't bother," said Basil. "We've no need of a litter."

The runecaster removed Morten's leather breastplate and tore open the sweat-stained tunic beneath. After pulling Morten's dagger from its sheath, he shaved the hair off the bodyguard's furry chest, then he dipped his finger in the fresh blood oozing from beneath the bodyguard's neck bandage and touched the red-stained digit to the firbolg's chest.

"What will your magic do?" Tavis asked.

If Basil heard the question, he showed no sign. He lowered his bulging eyes to Morten's chest and began to draw. The process took longer than Tavis had imagined it would. The verbeeg traced his rune slowly and deliberately, taking great care to make certain each line rap absolutely true, with clean, straight edges. Whenever his gruesome ink began to run dry, he dipped his finger in Morten's blood again, and if any part of the stroke looked thinner or lighter than the rest, applied it again.

Deciding there was no use in standing around idly. Tavis returned to the place where Brianna had been captured. It took only a few moments to make sense of the jumble of ogre tracks and find a trail leading southeast. At first, this puzzled him, since the ogres' home lands lay more to the northeast. Then he realized that his quarry was hoping to throw off pursuit by circling around Castle Hartwick in an unexpected direction. The scout smiled to himself, for, with a little luck, he could cut them off-with a company of the king's men at his back.

As Tavis formulated his plan, a curious tension seemed to fall over the forest. Blizzard wandered onto the hilltop, nickering softly. Tavis looked back toward the trail and soon realized that the distant voices of the siskins bad changed to a chorus of harsh shick-shicks. "Someone was passing beneath their roosts, and from the angry sound of their calls, he was trying to be sneaky about it. The scout listened for the sounds of a man's passage. Me heard nothing, not even the rustle of leaves or the snap of a breaking twig. The person stalking toward them moved with stealth enough, but he lacked any skill at keeping the forest animals from betraying his presence.

"Avner, come here!" the scout called.

"How do you know it's me?" cried the astonished youth.

"The birds complained," Tavis answered. "Now do as you're told. You've upset them enough."

"I'll be right there," Avner replied. "Just let me get something I left back at the road."

After a short silence, the scout heard leaves rustling and branches snapping as a horse trotted through the wood. The beast crested the hill a moment later, Avner's proud figure seated upon its back. As the youth came nearer, Tavis saw a hawk's-head crest embossed on the skirt of the gelding's fine leather saddle.

"Where'd you come by that horse?" he demanded.

"I found it," Avner answered.

"In Earl Dobbin's stable, no doubt," chuckled Basil, "Well done, boy."

"Don't encourage his dishonest ways!" Tavis turned toward Basil and saw that the runecaster had finished his symbol. The verbeeg was walking toward there, pulling Morten's unconscious form along at his side. The bodyguard was lying flat on his back four feet on the ground, with a red, multifarious rune shimmering upon his massive chest.

Tavis shifted his glare to Avner. "The lord mayor can have you drawn and quartered for taking one of his horses," he said. "And I'd be breaking the law if I tried to stop him."

The color drained from Avner's face, but he met Tavis's gaze evenly. "Don't worry. I wouldn't expect your to break the law." There was a bitter edge to his voice.

"You're being too hard on the boy," Basil said, joining Tavis. "He was just being resourceful. How else was he supposed to catch us?"

"He wasn't," Tavis snapped, still scowling at Avner, "He was supposed to stay behind and look after the children."

"Livia said she'd watch them," Avner replied, "I wanted to be here in case you needed me."

"What do you think I could possibly need-"

Basil's free hand clamped down on the scout's arm, to cutting him off. "Don't say something you'll regret," he warned. "Besides, shouldn't we hurry to Castle Hartwick? When we report Brianna's abduction, a stolen horse will seem no big thing." * 4* Castle Hartwick

At last, Tavis reached the edge of the plateau and stopped to rest, legs aching and lungs burning after the long run from Coggin's Rise. Just ahead, the road descended over the lip of an enormous cliff that dropped a vast distance into the blue waters of the Clearwhirl River. From the middle of the river's deep currents rose a sheer-sided spire of granite, hundreds of feet high. Perched upon the summit of this craggy island, like a jagged white crown atop a pillar of black stone, sat the pale ramparts of Castle Hartwick.