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?"

"Would you rather wait for Morten?"

Basil reached into the ravine and drew himself up.

Before following, Tavis nocked another arrow and turned around. He found his view of the mountainside below blocked by Blizzard's white-flecked frame. The mare was pacing back and forth, nervously nickering and glaring up the ravine.

"Sorry girl," the scout said, using Bear Driller's end to push her away. "You'll have to trust me from here. You can't follow where the ogres are taking Brianna."

The horse stomped her hoof, then withdrew a few paces. On the mountainside below, Tavis quickly found Morten, still charging up the slope and now easily within arrow range. The scout drew Bear Driller's string back, then aimed the tip of his arrow at the bridge of his target's nose.

The bodyguard's eyes widened in alarm, and he threw himself face first to the rocky ground. Tavis quickly adjusted his aim, then released his bowstring. The arrow hissed away. A loud ping echoed across the mountain as the steel tip struck the back side of Morten's breastplate, then the shaft ricocheted away.

Tavis smiled, then whispered. "That shot should slow down even an angry firbolg."

Needle Peak loomed across the valley, a granite minaret rising a thousand feet above the field of gray boulders surrounding it. Behind the spire lay the silhouette of the next mountain ridge, a jagged wall of stone and ice. To the pinnacle's south, the rocky meadow ended at the brink of a vast, murky abyss. From these gloomy depths came the dull roar of an unseen river, its frothing waters filling the air with a fine mist that bent the sun's light over the canyon in a stunning arc of red and yellow and blue.

The rainbow was the only colorful thing in the vista ahead. To the north of the pinnacle, the field ended beneath a wall of loose boulders and pearly ice, the terminal moraine of a large glacier. The snow field curved away for miles, slowly climbing toward a cirque in the mountain ridge.