"She's not safe yet."

As Tavis uttered his warning, the crow sailed low over his head and dropped down on the granite shore. Before the scout could utter another word, Rog's wolves leaped for the bird, snapping and snarling, knocking Morten into Tavis and sending both firbolgs sprawling in the pond.

The crow sprang into the air, but did not fly away. Instead, the bird darted to and fro, its talons slashing noses and its beak shredding ears. Cowards that they were, the dire wolves retreated the instant they suffered an injury. Within moments, the entire pack had brushed past Brianna and the other humans to flee down the passage, licking their wounds and yelping for their master.

"That's some crow." Morten observed, raising himself out of the cold waters.

The instant he could stand, Tavis lashed out with Bear Driller, catching the bird's neck between the tip and string of his bow. He quickly pulled the thing down, but it slipped free and dived past him into the water.

"That's no bird. It's Goboka." The scout plunged his hands into the water, searching for the submerged crow. "Go on. Once you're out of the tunnel, tell Rog to seal it behind you-whether or not I've caught up."

Earl Dobbin took Brianna by the hand and started up the corridor, but Avner drew his dagger and stepped toward Tavis.

"I'll stay to help-"

Morten cut the boy's offer short by snatching him up and starting up the corridor. "Don't stay long," the bodyguard advised. "The giant said the gate isn't far ahead. We don't need much of a head start."

Tavis acknowledged the warning with a grunt, then slipped Bear Driller over his shoulder and drew his sword. He was tempted to wait for the bird to surface, but this was no ordinary crow, and he had no idea how long it might remain submerged. He began to blindly slash his blade through the dark water, hoping that he would at least keep Goboka too busy dodging to counterattack.

A chorus of mad, deep-throated growls suddenly echoed down the corridor. Tavis whirled around and, by the distant light of Brianna's torch, saw Rog's wolves spinning around to attack.

"No!" thundered the giant's voice. "Down!"

The dire wolves paid no attention to their master and leaped for the first person in line, Earl Dobbin. The lord mayor's hideous screams filled the passage as he disappeared beneath a mad flurry of fur.

"Bad wolves!" yelled Rog. "Stop!"

Morten dropped Avner to the ground, then grabbed Brianna and pulled her behind him. Tavis scrambled from the pool. Earl Dobbin's screams fell abruptly silent. In the dim light cast by Brianna's torch, the scout saw the wolves tearing at the lord mayor's body, their slavering jaws ripping it into a dozen separate pieces.

Morten grabbed Brianna and pushed her back toward Tavis, then spread himself across the tunnel. He swung his axe, and a pair of dull thumps reverberated down the corridor. Two wolves yelped in pain, then abruptly fell silent.

"Stop!" Rog's grief-stricken wail filled the passage.

Morten's foot lashed out, crushing another beast against the wall.

"Tavis friend!" yelled Rog. "Make stupid firbolg stop!"

"Sorry, Rog," Tavis called, sprinting down the corridor.

The scout did not have time to explain that the beasts were being controlled by the ogre shaman, for Morten was swinging his axe again. The bodyguard killed another pair of wolves, but two more slipped past in the confusion.

Before the wolves had a chance to attack Brianna or Avner, the princess swung her huge torch like a club. She dropped one beast dead in its tracks and caught the other on the backswing, setting its fur ablaze. So powerful was her blow that it darkened her torch and sent the wolf tumbling down the passage.

The flaming brute landed directly in front of Tavis. It sprang up instantly, snarling and snapping. The scout tried to bring his sword up, but the red-eyed monster, stinking of scorched fur and the rancid breath of a carnivore, was already on him. He threw his free arm up to keep the beast from ripping his throat out, then felt its momentum bowling him over.

Tavis let himself fall, dropping to his back and planting a foot squarely in his attacker's abdomen. His whole arm exploded into searing pain as the fangs sank deep into his flesh, but the scout ignored the agony and kicked as hard as he could. The beast rolled over him and he followed, leading with his sword. The blade pierced the creature's sternum with a wet crackle. The wolf's fur smothered beneath its huge body, quickly stopped burning, and the scout found himself lying in darkness.

"Tavis?" came Avner's voice.

The passage had grown eerily quiet, save for Rog's distant demands for someone to open the gate. The scout looked behind him and saw only a few faint embers glowing on Brianna's extinguished torch. Otherwise, the corridor was as black as a grave.

"Is anyone hurt?" asked Brianna.

"Aside from the lord mayor?" countered Morten.

The sound of sloshing water echoed through the passage. Tavis needed no light to know that a huge, burly ogre was rising from the pool.

"Tavis?" Avner repeated. "Is that you?"

"No, it's Goboka," Tavis whispered over his shoulder. "Morten, take Brianna and Avner!"

"Do you need a light to fight by?" asked Brianna.

"No, just go," Tavis whispered. "And that means you, Avner. I'll have enough to do without worrying about where you are."

"If that's what you want," the boy responded. "But you better make it out alive."

"I'll do my best," Tavis replied.

The scout waited until his companions' footsteps began to echo down the corridor, then rose and crept forward, moving as silently as possible to keep Goboka from tracking him by sound. Because ogres were as blind in the darkness as firbolgs, Tavis considered himself at an advantage. He was an experienced blind-fighter, while the shaman could not use his magic without revealing his position. Tavis continued forward, holding his sword before him, warm blood dripping off his mauled arm, ready to spring forward the instant Goboka uttered the first syllable of an incantation.

The shaman did not make that mistake. He remained as silent as Tavis.

The scout did not worry. No matter how silent Goboka remained, he could not hide completely. A sour, rancid odor filled the cave, and it was growing stronger by the moment. Tavis pressed himself against the cavern wall and raised his sword, waiting for the slightest sound that would give the shaman's position away.

Something came hissing at Tavis's head. The scout swung his sword and leaned away, failing to avoid the four leathery knuckles that caught him in the cheek. His head snapped back, his blade clanged off the stony wall, and he fell reeling to the ground.

Tavis rolled. A foot crashed against the stone where he had been lying, and he swung his sword's hilt up into the darkness. The pommel smashed into something solid, and he felt the ogre's knee buckling. Tavis pushed off the ground, bringing his legs beneath him and slashing down as Goboka's great mass fell.

The blade clanged against bare stone.

This time, Tavis sensed nothing before he was hit. The shaman's fist caught him square in the chest, driving the wind from his lungs and hurling him back through the darkness. The scout landed on a lifeless lump of fur somewhere down the passage-he could not tell where-still gripping his sword in both hands.

The scout forced his aching body to rise. He slowly backed away, sliding his feet along just above the cave floor. His chest hurt, hurt like it had never hurt before. There had been no snapping or cracking when his foe's blow landed. So why did it hurt so much?

The ogre smell seemed weaker now. Tavis hoped that meant Goboka was far away, but he also knew it could mean he was getting weaker. He had fallen unconscious before, and he remembered his senses beginning to fade just before he passed out.