Troy Denning - The Titan of Twilight

“ ‘Kay, stupid thieves! Snad comin’ down,” the giant warned. “Better be dead when he gets there!”

Tavis cupped a hand to his ear and craned his neck to look up the chute. There was not the slightest rustle, nor the faintest gleam of light. For all the high scout could tell, Snad was a mere voice in the dark-a resentful voice.

Tavis crawled to the edge of his step, then lay on his belly and stretched his bleeding hand along the face of the dark granite. He barely managed to reach the center of the chute and slip three cold fingertips into the narrow crevice. The high scout pulled himself toward the opposite wall, at once swinging his legs off the stair and reaching for the fissure with his good hand.

The soles of his boots landed on the far side of the trough, slipped on the hoarfrost, and shot out from beneath him. Tavis started down the chute, then caught the crevice with his second hand and jammed a fist inside. The craggy stone scraped away long ribbons of skin, driving the numbness from his flesh, but the hand held. He brought himself to a halt.

Tavis resumed his descent, moving as quickly as he dared in the darkness. He had no idea whether Snad was descending the chute above or coming via another passage, but he suspected it would not be long before the hill giant arrived. Before then, the high scout wanted to have Orisino’s torch lit and be well down the trail.

A dozen steps later, the sole of Tavis’s boot came down on the jagged corner of a small boulder. He lowered himself onto the rock, then slipped down its side to something that felt like a jumbled platform of firewood. With a series of brittle cracks, his weight settled onto the sticks.

The sharp point of a sword poked Tavis in the short ribs. The scout leaned away from the tip and thrust a leg out, aiming a rear stomping kick just below the weapon. His boot sank into something soft. The breath left his attacker’s lungs with a muffled whumpf, then a ’kin-sized body slammed into a monolith and slumped to the floor. A series of receding clangs echoed through the cavern as the ambusher’s weapon skittered down an unseen slope.

Orisino simultaneously groaned and wheezed for breath. “Tavis… why’d… you do that?”

“Why did you stick a sword in my back?”

“I didn’t mean… any harm.” Aside from his lack of wind, Orisino sounded healthy enough. “I thought you were the giant.”

“He’ll be here soon enough,” Tavis replied. “Give me your torch.”

When Tavis reached down, the verbeeg grabbed the proffered hand and used it to pull himself up. “I don’t think a torch is smart. It’ll lead the giant straight to us.”

“He’ll find us anyway.” Tavis reached around the verbeeg and pulled the torch from his belt. “Until he does, we need to see where we’re going.”

Tavis removed his tinderbox from his satchel and knelt on the floor, spreading a mound of tinder before him. He found his flint and steel and fumbled with them until his numb fingers struck a fire. As the flames flickered to life, the high scout was surprised to see that the floor was covered not by sticks, but by a yellow tangle of bones.

“It appears we’re not Snad’s first victims,” Orisino said.

“We’re not victims yet.”

Tavis touched the torch to the tinder, which was already burning out, and blew gently on the flames until the oil-soaked head caught fire. The brand’s broader circle of light revealed thousands of bones. A few were fresh enough to have bits of withered hide clinging to their surfaces, but most were naked and almost petrified with age. A few were so gray and soft that they would powder at the slightest touch. They came in all sizes and shapes, from tibias no thicker than arrows to ribs as long as the floor planks of Keep Hartwick. Giants and ’kin were represented in equal proportions among the skulls scattered through the tangle, as were humans, elves, and other small races.

Tavis led them away from the bones, following the well-worn trail along a contorted route of corners and doglegs that took them ever downward. They heard no more of Snad until his splintered voice echoed through the stones above their heads.

“Snad the One! Not you, stupid thieves!” The giant’s voice sounded more imploring than angry. “Come back now, or Snad-”

The rest was too garbled to make out.

“The giant’s moving!” Orisino whispered.

“True, but at least he seems to be behind us.” Tavis passed the torch to Orisino, then pulled Mountain Crusher off his shoulder. “Assuming you’ll lead for a while, I’ll be ready when he catches up.”

Orisino looked dubious, but turned down the path. Tavis kept pace easily, even with his bow in hand, and stopped often to study the murky passages around them. Once a warm draft wafted out of a side passage. The high scout fired an arrow into the breeze on the off chance Snad had caused it; the shaft clattered against an unseen rock. Their pursuer remained a mere voice in the dark.

They continued to descend, slipping and sliding over the frosty stones, until at last they traversed the face of a long monolith and came to a fork in the trail. One route turned sharply to the right, while the other zigzagged down a small shaft. The ruts descending the shaft looked about twice as deep as those in the horizontal passage.

Orisino passed the torch to Tavis and sat on the edge of the pit. “I’m going to need both hands for this climb.” He glanced at the scout, then added, “That is, unless you’re so mad that you really are looking for a shortcut.”

When Tavis did not reply, a crafty smile crossed Orisino’s lips. “I thought as much.”

The chieftain climbed down to the limit of the torchlight, where he sat upon a huge, well-worn step to wait for Tavis. The high scout dropped the brand to the verbeeg, then slipped his bow over his shoulder and climbed down to the same place. They had to repeat the process only twice more before Orisino reached the bottom of the shaft.

“I think we’re almost there.” The verbeeg turned to peer down a dark, diamond-shaped passage. “The floor in there is solid bedrock, and I can see-”

A large stone flew out of the side passage and struck a glancing blow off Orisino’s brow. The chieftain’s head snapped back, flinging blood across the walls, and he collapsed in a crumpled heap. His eyes remained open and vacant, focused somewhere in the darkness high above Tavis’s head.

“Snad warn stupid thief!” rumbled the giant’s quavering voice. “Snad the One!”

Tavis dropped the torch into the pit, then descended to a ledge above the diamond-shaped passage. He pulled Mountain Crusher from his shoulder and started to nock his last runearrow, then thought better and selected a normal one. He had killed plenty of hill giants with regular arrows, and it would be wiser to save his magic for a more desperate situation.

“Go back, stupid firbolg thief!” cried Snad. “Snad keeper of Great Axe, not Tavis Burdun!”

“How do you know my name?” Tavis slipped out of his cloak.

“Snad know,” Snad replied. “Axe have Snad.”

Tavis raised his brow at the choice of words, then nocked his arrow. He tossed his dark cloak into the pit.

A large rock sailed out of the passage. The stone caught the cape in midair and carried it across the shaft, where it bounced off the wall and came down on Orisino’s arm. The verbeeg’s fingers flinched, but Tavis had no time to consider what that meant. He dropped onto the pit floor with his bowstring drawn and his arrow pointed into the diamond-shaped tunnel.

Tavis could not quite grasp what he saw. At the end of the corridor, the darkness changed from soot-black to a silvery hue that was neither glow nor gloom. Standing before this strange ether was the shadowy skeleton of a hill giant. It was as though Tavis and Orisino had descended through the talus boulders into the realm of the dead.