"So I have heard," Tavis replied. Brianna herself had once explained that her husband would be the first king not descended by direct male lineage from the original Hartwick king. "The princess told me she was only the tenth girl-child in her line, and the first woman to become sole heir to the throne."

"Then you know the king never intended to give away his child," said Runolf. "But now, he must honor the promise. To refuse would mean war with the ogres, and thousands would suffer in Brianna's place."

Tavis's knees grew weak, his thoughts spinning in his head. Still holding Runolf in his hands, he sat on the ground and felt tears running down his cheeks. "Why?" he asked. "What do the ogres want with her?"

"I don't know," Runolf replied. "Neither does the king."

"A more interesting question is how this Goboka knew Brianna would be born," said Basil. "After a thousand years of kings, it seems strange he should ask for a princess shortly before one becomes the first female heir to Hartsvale."

"Goboka set him up!" Avner exclaimed. "I'll bet the ogres arranged the whole war, just so he'd need them. I've helped-er, I've seen-charlatans use tricks like that to cheat people at the village fair."

"That thought has crossed the king's mind, I assure you," Runolf said. "But it makes no difference. If Goboka has the magic to do such a thing, then refusing to honor the promise would be even more dangerous."

Basil shook his head. "This shaman's magic is powerful, but not that powerful. He couldn't do such a thing without help-very powerful help." The verbeeg fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Do you know where the ogres were taking Brianna?"

Runolf's face went rigid. "They didn't tell me," he said in a strained voice.

"That's not what I asked you," Basil pressed. "Do you know where they're going?"

The mist in Runolf's eyes suddenly grew hot, then shot out in two great plumes of searing steam. Tavis dropped the head and scrambled away, his chest and arms throbbing with pain from the scalding he had just received.

"What's happening?" the firbolg demanded.

"The shaman's fighting my magic," Basil said. "Amazing!"

The verbeeg backed away, motioning for his companions to do the same. Then he looked back to Runolf's head, which was now completely engulfed in the golden steam. "Where are the ogres taking Brianna?" he demanded.

The runes on Runolf's brow flared, filling the boiling cloud with a brilliant green glimmer.

"I overheard a name," came the croaking reply. "Twilight Vale."

The steam cloud began to whirl, draining back into the eyes of the disembodied head. Basil's runes flashed like lightning, and a deep, sonorous roar rumbled from Runolf's mouth.

"Let's move!" Tavis yelled.

The companions turned and rushed for the couloir walls, grasping for handholds even as they leaped onto the stony ramparts. With a tremendous crack, Runolf's head flew apart. A wall of sheer force slammed into their backs, driving the breath from their lungs and pinning them tightly against the crag.

Tavis did not care. His face pressed against the rock, he clung to his handholds with a death grip. Behind him, the talus shuddered, then, with a deafening roar, it released its hold and went crashing away.

As the dust began to billow out of the valley below, the scout looked toward Needle Peak. There, standing a little apart from the long ogre line with his eyes fixed on the couloir, was a single burly figure: Goboka. * 7* Silent Ravine

A trio of mule deer flashed past Tavis's shoulder, their hooves pattering almost silently across the needle-covered ground. They ran up the ravine for a short distance, white rumps flashing behind gray pine boles, to where the small valley bent sharply to the north. Here, the doe suddenly pulled up short, then darted into the mouth of a rocky gulch. The three beasts vanished from sight as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the forest as still as it had been a moment earlier.

Tavis continued to walk, forcing himself not to look back. The skin between his shoulder blades felt cold and clammy, a sure sign that his senses had detected some danger his mind could not yet identify. His first thought was that Morten and the earls were catching up, but he did not hear snapping sticks or rattling armor or alarmed birds, or any other sounds to suggest an ungainly firbolg and eighteen overburdened humans were tramping through the wood behind him. In fact, an unnatural hush had fallen over the entire valley, and he heard nothing but the wind whispering through the pines.

It had to be ogres. Few things silenced a forest like a pack of ogres, and even mule deer were not so skittish that the doe would have led her fawns so close if she had not been terrified. Somehow, an ogre patrol had slipped in behind Tavis and his companions. This alarmed the scout, not because it surprised him, but because he had expected Goboka to try exactly this maneuver, and he had still failed to notice it happening.

Tavis was also puzzled by how all three deer had survived long enough to come charging past. Ogres customarily killed every creature they found in their path, which was why the forest grew so quiet upon their approach-most beasts had developed the good sense to hide or flee at the first rancid whiff of ogre flesh. Yet the deer had been fleeing into the wind, which meant the doe would not have smelled the brutes until they were upon her. In this thick forest, she would not have seen or heard the ogres until they were easily within bow range. So how had she and her fawns escaped alive? None of them should have survived the brutes' poison-tipped arrows, much less all three. Ogres were better hunters than that.

Tavis pulled his bow off his shoulder and stepped behind a tree. He looked back down the gully, at the same time nocking an arrow, and found the astonished faces of Basil and Avner staring back at him.

"What are you doing?" Avner gasped.

"Take cover!" Tavis hissed, genuinely surprised the fleeing deer had failed to alarm the pair. "A pack of ogres snuck in behind us. They're coming up the ravine right now, hoping to plant their arrows in our backs."

Avner threw himself to the ground and crawled behind a boulder. Basil stepped behind a tree next to Tavis. They peered down the ravine, their eyes searching the maze of gray bark for some sign of movement.

"I don't see anything." Avner whispered.

Neither did Tavis. Save for a few pine boughs swaying gently in the wind, the wood was as still as ice. The scout raised his eyes toward the forest canopy, just in case the ogres were employing the same trick they had used on Coggin's Rise. He saw nothing in the green needles, not so much as a lurking squirrel or the silhouette of a frightened porcupine. The brutes could hide well enough on the ground, but even they were not so stealthy they could move through the treetops without leaving some sign. If there had been any warriors lurking among the branches, the scout would have seen signs: broken limbs, overturned nests, clawed bark, or something similar.

"Perhaps you were mistaken," Basil suggested. "This forest is empty."

"Too empty." Tavis said. "Listen."

Basil cocked his head to one side, then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't hear anything."

"Me either!" Avner said. "I don't hear any singing birds."

"Or chattering squirrels, or whistling rockchucks," Tavis said. "We aren't alone here."

Basil began to fumble through his shoulder satchel. "How much time do we have?"

"Not enough for you to draw a rune," Tavis answered. The ogres are fairly near, or those deer wouldn't have passed so close to us."

Avner swallowed hard. "So we have to fight?"

"Not yet," Tavis replied. "If we let the ogres pick the battle site, we're doomed."

"Then how do we escape?" Basil asked.