Troy Denning - The Titan of Twilight

“Hello, Basil,” Tavis said. “You’re the last person I expected to find at Wynn Castle.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” Basil did not take his eyes off the clouds.

Tavis felt sure his friend meant the sunset, not the hundreds of giant-kin scattered across the shadow-streaked snows outside. The first party of firbolgs had arrived at the castle that morning, less than two hours after the queen’s battered entourage. Since then, a constant stream of ’kin had been pouring from the Gorge of the Silver Wyrm. They were already building a siege tower and ram shed so they could storm the walls, perhaps as soon as tomorrow. Their leaders were no fools; no doubt, they realized that Brianna had immediately sent for reinforcements. If they did not capture the queen before her reserves arrived, they never would.

The giant-kin had a difficult task ahead of them. Wynn Castle guarded the southern passes through which Hartsvale traded with the outside world, and only Castle Hartwick, the queen’s permanent residence, was stronger. More than once, Wynn Castle had withstood barrages of flame and stone cast by whole companies of fire giants. If the citadel had held against those assaults, it would likely survive anything hurled at it by the giant-kin.

Basil continued to stare at the sunset, completely lost in its beauty. The absentminded verbeeg often seemed to forget his surroundings-he sometimes went days without remembering to eat-but seldom was he absorbed by something so mundane as twilight.

“You didn’t come all this way to watch the sun go down,” Tavis said.

The high scout took Basil’s elbow and gently turned him around. The verbeeg’s gaze remained fixed on the blazing clouds, his body swiveling beneath his head until his neck could crane no farther. As his eyes were torn from the mesmerizing sight, the bliss drained from his face like water.

“What are you doing here?” Tavis asked. In case Basil had forgotten where ‘here’ was, he added, “Why did you come to Wynn Castle?”

Basil shrugged. “I’ve never seen this castle. Now seemed as good a time as any.”

“You haven’t set foot outside Castle Hartwick in three years,” Tavis countered. “In fact, you’ve barely left the Royal Library.”

The verbeeg knitted his gray brows and tugged at his wispy beard. Then his eyes glimmered. “I have news for you! And for Brianna, too, when you can arrange an audience.” Basil glanced toward the center of the castle, where the four ice-draped towers of Wynn Keep loomed above the inner curtain. “The guards seem to have forgotten who I am. I can’t get past the keep gate.”

“You’re doing better than I am,” Tavis replied. “They won’t even let me into the ward.”

“But you’re her husband!” Basil winced as soon as he spoke, then looked down at Tavis with an apologetic expression. “Aren’t you?”

The high scout spread his hands. “Who knows?” he asked. “I was yesterday.”

Basil’s face fell, and he looked away shaking his head. “This is terrible,” he said. “It could make things difficult.”

“You think it hasn’t already?” Tavis growled.

Basil did not seem to notice the scout’s foul humor. “What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?” Tavis snapped. “I didn’t do anything-except save her from the fire giants and the giant-kin and guide her out of Earl Wynn’s mines.”

“ Something must have happened,” Basil pressed. “And I must say, it couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. Tell me what you’ve been doing since you left Castle Hartwick.”

Tavis nodded, then glanced around the ramparts. Counting his five armored escorts and the guards watching over Basil, there were nearly a dozen men on the roof of the small tower.

“You men go down inside and warm up,” he suggested. “I think we’re safe enough here.”

Tavis’s escorts and Basil’s guards exchanged nervous glances. Neither group made any move to leave.

“What’s wrong?” Tavis demanded. “Do as I say.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” said the sergeant. “But the queen gave orders. We’re to keep a watch on all the ’kin in the castle-especially you.”

Tavis’s stomach balled into an aching knot. He found himself stepping toward the sergeant, and he saw his own hands rising to shove the man into the stair turret. The soldier and his fellows all went pale, but they stood their ground and reached for their swords.

Basil’s long fingers dug into Tavis’s shoulder. “There’s no need for violence,” said the runecaster. “I can arrange our privacy, if that’s what you want.”

Tavis allowed himself to be stopped, then took a deep breath and addressed the guards. “I didn’t realize what your orders were. Please carry on-and I’m sorry for my reaction.”

“No offense taken, milord,” said the sergeant. “If my wife ordered a guard on me, I’d be… er… surprised, too.”

In spite of his words, the soldier did not remove his hand from his sword hilt, and neither did the guards with him.

Tavis retreated to the ice-capped merlon where Basil was already kneeling on the roof, using a small runebrush to trace a circle around their feet. Though the tip had not been dipped in paint or ink, a sparkling green pigment flowed from beneath the bristles. When the runecaster finished drawing the boundary, he slowly and carefully traced a complicated tangle of sticklike lines in the heart of the ring.

The rooftop fell instantly silent. Tavis could see the soldiers a few paces away, shifting uneasily and discussing the spell among themselves, but he could not hear them.

“As long as we don’t break the circle, they won’t hear our words.” Basil tucked the runebrush back into his cloak. “Now, I suppose you’d better tell me exactly what happened in the Gorge of the Silver Wyrm.”

“I’m not sure I know-exactly.” Tavis rested his elbows on the icy merlon and looked out over the darkening plain.

Despite the deepening shadows, the giant-kin were still at work. Firbolg sawyers were dragging logs across the snowy plain to verbeeg carpenters, who were busy lashing the timbers into huge siege machines. Even the fomorians were helping, skinning hundreds of deer, elk, and moose for the hides that would defend their towers against flaming arrows.

“Tavis, you’re behaving like a human,” Basil observed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were ashamed of something.”

“Not ashamed, but I should have handled things better,” Tavis admitted. “We were only five leagues from the Silver Citadel when the trouble started…”

The high scout recounted everything that had happened the previous day, from the onset of the fire giant attack through the arrival of the queen’s party at Wynn Castle, when Brianna had locked herself in Wynn Keep and ordered Tavis to remain in the outer bailey. By the time his story was done, twilight had fallen completely. The ’kin out on the plain were no more than shadows moving in the moonlike glow of the snow.

“I don’t blame Brianna for being upset about K-Kae-er, her son,” Tavis concluded. “So am I, but what can I do? I saw what I saw, and I can’t claim that child as my own. Brianna has no right to be angry with me.”

Basil slapped his brow. “Firbolgs! The problem is Galgadayle, you oaf!”

Tavis frowned. “The seer?”

“Why you had to spare him is beyond me, but to tell Brianna what you did was madness!” The verbeeg shook his head. “No wonder she doesn’t trust us. You’ve certainly ruined any chance that she’ll believe what I have to say. We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t execute us both, much less grant me an audience.”

“Why should she execute us?” Tavis was genuinely confused. “I did what was right.”