"Home?" Avner gasped. "Back to the castle?"

The smile vanished from Brianna's lips. "That's right." She nodded. "I must face my father."

"Are you sure that's prudent?" asked Basil. "In all likelihood, he'll return you to the ogres."

"Not before I tell the earls the price he paid to win his kingdom." she replied.

"What good is that?" Avner objected. "Half of them would do the same thing! They won't defy their king to protect you."

"He doesn't deserve to be their king!" Brianna snapped. "When he made his bargain with Goboka, he didn't betray me alone. He betrayed his kingdom!"

"How so?" Basil asked.

"The king has sired no other children," Brianna explained. "If the ogres take me, there's no legitimate heir to the throne. Hartsvale will fall into anarchy when my father dies."

"And that's why we must go back," Tavis said. The scout chose not to comment on the other, more ghastly possibility: that the Twilight Spirit would help some giant get a child on her-a half-breed who would, in time, become heir to Hartsvale's throne. "We must make the earls understand the king's crime."

"Not we." Brianna took Tavis's hand between hers and looked into his eyes. "You've already done more for me than I deserve."

"Brianna, that's not possible." the scout protested.

"It is, especially given my poor behavior," the princess insisted. "I should never have doubted you, but I swear in Hiatea's name it will never happen again. Please forgive me."

Tavis felt the heat rising to his cheeks. "My lady, I already have," he replied. "All I ask in return is that you allow me to stand with you during the trying days to come."

Brianna's eyes grew watery, and she released Tavis's hand. "I only wish I could," she said. "But Avner is right about my chances with the earls. When we reach Castle Hartwick, I want you to wait in the woods. If I fail, take the boy and go find your tribe. You're a remarkable firbolg, and I'm sure there will be a place for you."

Tavis shook his head. "You know I can't do that," he said. "Now more than ever, you need a bodyguard-and I'm the only firbolg available for the job."

"But what of Avner?" Brianna demanded. "If we fail, n won't be safe for him in Hartsvale."

"It would be safer than sending him to live with firbolgs!" Basil protested. "The child wouldn't last two days in such a stern society."

"Besides, my place is at Tavis's side," Avner said.

"If Brianna and I fail, your place will be with Basil." the scout countered. "You aren't going into the castle."

Avner rolled his eyes and sighed. "If that's what you want."

"This won't be like the time you let Morten walk into the ogre ambush," Tavis warned. "I mean what I say."

"So do I," Avner replied. He met the firbolg's eyes squarely. "I won't disappoint you this time."

"I know you won't." Tavis ruffled the boy's hair, then looked back to Brianna. "See? We're all set."

"Almost," the princess said. "But there's one thing you must promise me."

"As long as it's in my power," the scout replied.

"It is," Brianna said. "You mustn't let my father return me to the ogres. Kill me first."

"I couldn't raise a hand against you!" he objected.

"What I ask is well within your power," Brianna insisted. "To deny me this promise is to break your word."

Tavis looked away, but the princess stepped around and forced him to look at her.

"I've told you what I want. Will you obey?"

A knot formed in the scout's throat, but he nodded. "My last arrow will be for you," he said. "But, if it comes to that, the first one will be for your father."

"Agreed," Brianna replied. "It will be better to end the Hartwick dynasty quickly, so that a powerful earl can seize the throne before the others start plotting and scheming."

"I'm glad you've developed a plan for what you're going to do inside the castle, but what about getting us there?" asked Basil. "As exhausted as we are, we can't outrun Goboka."

Tavis nodded. "You're right about that." he said. "Sooner or later, we'll have to rest-or pass out from fatigue. Either way, the shaman will catch us long before we reach Hartsvale."

"Then let's meet him here." Brianna studied the bog for a moment, then said, "Here's what we'll do."

When the princess finished explaining her plan, Tavis shook his head. "It puts you in too much risk," he said. "You'll suffocate if something goes wrong."

"We all share in the risk," Brianna countered. "And if something goes wrong, I want to suffocate. I'd rather die than fall into Goboka's hands again."

Basil passed his hand axe to the princess. "In that case, the hunted shall become the hunter."

From his hiding place in a log tangle, Tavis watched Goboka's bulky figure approach. The shaman could not have had much rest in past two days, but he showed little sign of fatigue. His strides were long and steady, his eyes alert, and his jaw set with determination. Even his wound seemed to be healing. From the stump of his severed arm dangled the beginnings of a new limb, complete with a tiny elbow, wrist, and hand.

Goboka stopped twenty paces from the bog. His purple eyes narrowed and glared over the gray mud at the weary Brianna, who sat in the center of the quagmire on a hastily constructed raft of three logs. The ogre's gaze flickered to the opposite bank, where Blizzard stood nickering and scraping at the shore with her hooves, then his nostrils flared. He scowled and dropped to his knees, sniffing at the ground as a wolf might.

Cursing under his breath, Tavis nocked an arrow. Goboka had stopped a good dozen steps short of the cross fire he and Basil had set up, but the scout knew their target would come no closer. Ogres normally did not have an acute sense of smell, so it seemed apparent the shaman had used magic to enhance his-and if his spell was half as powerful as a wolf's nose, it would not take him long to find his ambushers.

Tavis rose and fired. At the sound of Bear Driller's bowstring, the shaman sprang to his feet. As fast as he moved, his reflexes were not quick enough to spare him entirely. The shaft took him in the shoulder above the severed arm. Tavis was still using ogre arrows, so the impact did not even knock Goboka down, but when the ogre saw the arrow's black fletching, his eyes widened in alarm. Cursing in the guttural language of his people, he ripped the shaft from his wound and flung it away.

"Now, Basil!" Tavis yelled. The scout was already nocking another arrow.

Goboka's eyelids began to droop and he sank to his haunches, but he managed to pull a clay vial from his satchel. Without even opening it, he stuck the small bottle into his mouth and bit down. Runnels of bright blue fluid spilled from the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin, bubbling and hissing, sending wisps of blood-colored vapor up past his nose.

The scout released his bowstring, aiming for one of the shaman's sleepy eyes. The ogre's lethargic gaze was fixed on his attacker, seemingly oblivious to the streaking shaft. Tavis's hand dropped reflexively toward his quiver, but he found himself thinking he might not need another arrow-until, almost casually, Goboka tipped his head aside and allowed the shaft to hiss past.

Basil rose from his hiding place, also in a log tangle, and flung a flat runestone toward the ogre. With smoke and flame spewing from its edges, the rock sailed straight for Goboka. The shaman looked toward the sizzling rock, then raised the stump of his arm into the air and, with the tiny hand growing at its end, tapped the disc ever so slightly. The missile changed directions and came shooting straight for Tavis.

The scout hurled himself from the log tangle and rolled, trying to put as much distance between himself and the runestone as possible. A loud thump echoed through the forest as the disc buried itself in a log. The sizzle deepened to a rumble, became a roaring crescendo, and finally exploded with a deafening clap.