The lady realized that her bodyguard had found what he was searching for, and from the sound of it he was outmanned by a fair amount. Though she knew her father would warn her to return to Stagwick and demand Earl Dobbin's protection, Brianna planted her heels in Blizzard's ribs, urging the mare into the grove. As they passed the corpse Morten had left lying in the road, Brianna got her first close glimpse of an ogre.

Save for the tusklike teeth protruding from beneath his lower lip, the brute resembled a huge, loutish man with a jutting chin and floppy, oversized ears. From the septum of his crooked nose hung a bronze ring, while his eyes, glazed with death, had purple irises and white pupil's. He wore a wolf-skull headdress that had slipped halfway off his lumpy head to reveal a mass of greasy hair pulled into a tight topknot.

Blizzard snorted, springing away as if to escape the disgusting ogre smell. Brianna guided the mare to where Morten had left the path and easily spied her bodyguard's footprints, a series of deep depressions in the mossy ground. The princess urged the mare into a gallop, keeping her gaze locked on the firbolg's trail and trusting her mount to pick a safe path. Soon, the sour smell of ogre filled the air. Brianna looked up, but the woods were so thick that she still could not see the battle.

Morten cried out in pain, then rasping battle cries rattled from several ogre throats and a series of loud blows reverberated through the aspens. First one, then a second, third, and fourth ogre howled in agony. The crack of a falling tree echoed through the stand, followed by a tremendous crash and an inhuman screech. Then the battle fell abruptly silent, and Brianna found herself listening to nothing but rustling aspen leaves and the crashing footfalls of her charging horse. She slowed Blizzard to a walk, knowing that the ogre survivors-if there were any- would be able to hear her coming now that the battle had quieted.

Morten's voice rang through the wood. "It safe, Brianna." Like his message, his tone was strained and almost incoherent, as if he were too exhausted to speak-or, more likely, was wounded. "You come…" The firbolg's voice trailed off.

Brianna urged Blizzard into a gallop. "I'll be right there, Morten," she called. "And thanks he to Hiatea that you survived."

Although Morten did not answer, the princess was able to follow the terrible smell of ogre bodies to the top of a rocky bluff overlooking the trail. As she approached, Brianna saw a wide band of black arrows scattered across the hillside and the bloody corpses of seven ogres strewn among the brown boulders that lay half buried in the mossy ground. Like the first ogre she had seen, they had purple eyes and topknots of greasy hair.

Her bodyguard sat slumped against the broken trunk of a toppled aspen tree, his dented buckler lying at his feet. There was a long bloody rift in the side of his helmet, his eyes were closed, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps.

As she rode over to Morten, Brianna saw that he had done his work well. A couple of the ogres had lost arms or legs to the firbolg's mighty sword and now lay in pools of foul-smelling blood so deep there could be none left in their bodies. The heads of two more lay several paces from their gaunt bodies, and a few bodies had been cleaved nearly in two. One ogre lay beneath the crown of the toppled aspen tree, his crumpled body twisted into an impossible shape.

Reaching Morten's side, Brianna dismounted. She slipped her silver-handled axe into her belt and grabbed her waterskin off her saddle, then began to examine the firbolg's injuries. A broken arrow shaft protruded from one of his massive thighs and his leather breastplate was gouged and slashed in a dozen places, but the armor had spared him any deep cuts.

Brianna unbuckled the chin strap and gently lifted off the bloody helmet- Morten's red hair was matted with blood, but that did not in itself alarm her. All scalp wounds bled freely, even those that were only superficial. She poured water over the slash to wash away the blood. To her surprise, the cut was neither large nor deep, only about as long as her thumb and so shallow that she could not even see the white bone of his skull.

Brianna frowned. "What's wrong, you great pansy?" she asked, half joking. "A little cut like that shouldn't bother you."

She placed her thumbs on his eyelids and drew them up. His pupils were both the same size and quickly retracted as if in response to the sudden daylight, but they were glassy and unfocused, like those of someone who bad drunk too much wine. Brianna let his eyes close, then grabbed a nearby arrow to examine the tip. It was coated with yellow paste.

"Poison!"

Brianna took Morten's dagger and pushed the blade into his thigh. When she felt the point slip past the arrowhead, she twisted the knife and began to pry, at the same time using her freehand to pull the broken shaft out of his leg. Tossing the vile thing aside, she squeezed the puncture's red-rimmed edges to promote bleeding.

That done, she removed her silver necklace, from which hung her goddess's symbol: a golden amulet shaped like a flaming sphere. She placed this talisman inside her waterskin, then turned her eyes toward the sky.

"Valorous Hiatea, bless this water, so that it may purify this warrior's spirit and make him worthy of your healing magic."

A gentle gurgle arose inside her waterskin, then the sides puffed out and white vapor gushed from the open neck. Brianna poured the steaming contents over heir patient's injuries. Dark bubbles frothed up from the wounds, covering Morten's skull and leg with thick, brown-streaked foam. The princess waited patiently as the lather cleansed Morten's spirit of wicked thoughts and emotions.

Although the process took many moments, Brianna thought no less of her bodyguard. She had learned not to judge people by impurities of the heart. All men, even firbolgs, waged a shadow war with the evil aspects of their own natures. Whether or not they won was far more important than the struggle itself. And Morten always won his battles-even those with himself.

At last, the blessed water stopped frothing and turned, more or less clear, spilling from the firbolg's wounds in red-tinged runnels. Now that Morten's spirit was ready to receive Hiatea's magic. Brianna worked quickly to heal the bodyguard. She scraped a piece of white bark off the tree stump at her patient's back and shredded it into a stringy mass. The princess laid this over the puncture in the firbolg's thigh, then pressed Hiatea's symbol onto the dressing.

"My goddess, take mercy on this courageous firbolg. Banish from his blood the vile poison of the ogre's arrow, that he may live to serve you again."

Brianna spoke the mystical syllables that actually cast the healing spell. A wave of searing energy arose beneath the princess's fingers, and when she pulled her hand away Hiatea's symbol was glowing yellow. The flames of the talisman turned orange and flickered like true fire. The bark dressing began to smoke, then erupted into a red blaze.

The magical fire whirled down into the puncture wound, then Brianna saw the veins glowing red beneath the firbolg's thick skin. Morten's eyes popped open, and he sat bolt upright. A deafening scream of pain burst from his throat and continued until the crimson glow of Hiatea's magic faded from his body. Only then did he close his eyes and collapse against the tree trunk again.

"Thank you, Huntress," Brianna whispered. "Now, let us hope Blizzard has the strength to drag him home."

The princess slipped her necklace over her head and rose. Intending to fetch a rope from her saddlebags, she turned toward her horse-then screamed.

Between her and Blizzard stood a huge ogre with skin as brown as an acorn. He was both taller and huskier than the dead ones Brianna had seen so far, almost as big and burly as Morten. He wore the skin of an enormous white bear over his shoulders and a human thigh bone through his greasy topknot. The princess could not imagine how a creature so large and awkward-looking had crept up on her so silently.