Noote stepped toward Morten, waving the poker's white-hot tip through the air. "Wait!" the chieftain yelled, addressing the backs of his departing subjects. "Time for run."

The giants paused, but only a few turned to face their chief. "Him not run." said one. "Firbolg too."

Noote grinned wickedly, then lowered the poker's tip and laid it against Morten's cheek. The firbolg heard a loud sizzle, then the sick odor of burning flesh filled his nose and his entire head burned with agony. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out, and even then he nearly choked on the silent scream rising into his throat. The pain filled his entire head, as though the god Vulcan had swung his flaming hammer into his skull.

When the agony had subsided enough that Morten could be sure he would not scream, he said, "I have no reason to run."

"Then Noote will give you a reason," growled the queen. She was so angry that she could not quite keep her voice from making the floor tremble. "You can run, or he'll burn your eyes out."

The bodyguard felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. It would be impossible to rescue Brianna if his captors blinded him. Still, he could not let them see his fear, or the princess was doomed.

Morten shrugged. "What use does a dead man have for eyes?"

The bodyguard looked away from the poker's white tip, distracting himself by fixing his attention on the spit. Tavis's blackened cocoon was now beginning to shrivel. From what Morten could see of the scout's face, he was suffering more from the shrinking leather than the heat. His cheeks had turned that peculiar crimson of someone being choked, and the veins in his temples were bulging.

Once again, the bodyguard found himself envious of the scout. From all appearances, the cocoon was squeezing Tavis's chest so tightly that the runt could not have screamed if he wanted to. But if Morten's eyes were burned out, he would have to rely on his own willpower to keep from yelling.

Noote kneeled beside Morten, then grabbed his head and twisted it toward the poker. "You 'fraid!" the chief insisted, moving the tip closer to the firbolg's eye. "Say it!"

"I'm not afraid," Morten replied. "But I will run-if you give me reason."

Noote stopped short of pressing the poker into the bodyguard's eye socket, but he continued to hold it so close Morten could feel the heat searing his eyeball. "What?"

"The princess," the bodyguard suggested. "Put her at the other end of the palace. If I carry her out the door, then we're both free."

"Fun!" chortled a giant.

"No!" burst the queen.

"Then burn my eyes out." Morten said. "I won't run for any other reason."

This occasioned so much grumbling and scuffling of giant feet that Morten feared the vibrations might cause the chief to inadvertently blind him. Fortunately, Noote's hand remained steadier than the dirt floor, and he continued to hold the glowing iron a mere finger's breadth from the bodyguard's eye. Sensing their chiefs indecision, the giants whispered among themselves optimistically.

Finally, they broke into an excited chant, "Rabbit run, rabbit run!"

The chorus made Noote's mind up for him. He rose to his feet and tossed the poker aside, then held out his hand out to his wife. "Brianna," he demanded.

The queen shook her head. "Think of what it would mean if that little vermin succeeds-"

Noote grabbed his queen by her silver necklace and pulled her toward him. "Me chief!" he growled. "Chief want girl!"

The queen refused to yield her prize, even when the other giants gave an approving cheer and stepped forward to support Noote. Morten feared the confrontation would erupt into a full-fledged combat, which bothered him only because he remained tied to the post and would be powerless to protect Brianna. The chief leaned forward and whispered something into his wife's ear. She listened for a moment, the scowl never leaving her face, then slapped the princess into her husband's hand. The resulting cheer was so loud Morten felt it in his bones.

The queen glared at Noote until the deafening sound died away, then she ran her angry gaze over the crowd gathered around the cooking fire. "If that firbolg escapes, I'll crack every one of your skulls."

The giants quickly wiped the smiles from their faces, but the enthusiasm with which they began to bind each other's hands suggested they took the threat less than seriously. So did Morten, but for a different reason. Even if he managed to run the gauntlet and squeeze out the door with Brianna, he knew better than to think Noote would actually set them free. But once they were together, with his hands unbound, their situation would be better than it was now.

As Noote passed the princess's bound figure to another giant, Brianna asked, "What about Tavis? Won't two rabbits be more fun than one?"

Noote appeared to consider this, at least for the half moment it took him to spot the queen violently shaking her head. "No," the chief said. "Him sick. No fun to chase."

"I can make him better," Brianna insisted.

"No!" Noote boomed. The chieftain returned his attention to the giant to whom he had passed the princess, then pointed toward the other end of the lodge. "Hang her on wall down there."

The giant grinned, dangling the princess by the rope entwining her body, "Gar put her good and high."

Morten fought back the urge to despair, and immediately began thinking of ways to turn this new obstacle to his advantage. If he could find a long pole or spear, he might use it to lift the princess off her hook instead of trying to climb up the wall as the giants would expect, and that would cause a short period of confusion-confusion he could use to good advantage.

Once the giant had disappeared into the gloom at the other end of the lodge, Noote stepped behind Morten. Instead of untying his prisoner, the chief pulled the entire pole out of the ground and dragged the bodyguard toward the far end of the Fir Palace.

Morten glanced over his shoulder at the cooking fire. It pleased him to see his strategy working well enough to keep Tavis alive. The scout's face had turned to a light shade of purple and his eyes had rolled back in his head, but the flames still had not burned through the shriveled leather of his cocoon. With luck, the bodyguard might save the scout on his way past-and that would be another surprise for the hill giants.

That was when Morten noticed an ogre warrior walking out of the gloom. The brute was striding down the center of the passage, both hands in plain sight, his purple eyes fixed straight ahead. Walking with him was Sart, the hill giant sentry that had fought Rog, but it was difficult to tell who was the prisoner of whom. Sart's eyes were fixed on the floor and he bore no weapon in his hands, while the ogre, who was also unarmed, kept his eyes fixed proudly ahead.

To Morten, it looked like the giant had failed in his sentry duties once again, and this time the lives he had endangered were those of the firbolg and his companions. At the very least, dealing with the ogre would cost valuable minutes-minutes that Tavis would spend roasting over the fire. At the worst, it would mean a premature end to the rabbit run when Noote and his queen learned Brianna had lied about Goboka's death.

Noote did not notice the ogre, but continued to drag Morten along until they had reached the far end of the lodge. There, he stopped and turned around to face his giants, leaving the firbolg half stooped over with the long stake still tied to his back.

"Ready for rabbit run?" the chieftain boomed. Then, when he was answered by nothing more than an astonished drone, he saw Sart coming toward him and demanded, "Who at High Gate?"

It was the ogre who answered. "High Gate Goboka's now." He waved his arm around the room. "All this be Goboka's, soon."