Troy Denning: The Giant Among Us

“And what makes you think I will?” Brianna demanded.

“Because you are not at peace with the giants.”

“Hartsvale has always had marauders,” the queen said. “The troubles in this fief don’t mean we’re at war.”

“Come now, you don’t believe that, and neither do I,” the prince said. “You see, I know all about the circumstances surrounding your rise to power.”

Brianna looked away, assuming a deliberately disinterested expression. “What circumstances would those be, Prince?”

Arlien smirked. “For one thing, your father agreed to sacrifice you to the giants’ guardian idol-I believe they call him the Twilight Spirit-in exchange for supporting his throne. You forced him to abdicate by exposing the plot to his earls.”

Tavis had to bite back an exclamation of surprise. Only a couple dozen earls should have known what the prince just stated. To ensure an orderly transition of power, Brianna had asked everyone present at her father’s abdication to remain silent about the fact that it had been forced.

Showing no sign of surprise, Brianna calmly returned her gaze to the prince. “I’ve heard that rumor as well,” she said. “But it hardly seems prudent to propose an alliance on the basis of gossip.”

Arlien sighed, then pointed to the golden arrow Tavis always carried in a special pocket of his quiver. “If what I say is wrong, why does your bodyguard carry that arrow?”

“As a symbol of office, of course,” Brianna responded.

“Really?” Arlien said. “I thought it was for you.”

“That’s a reasonable assumption,” the queen allowed.

“If it’s only an assumption, why is the shaft inscribed with magic to make your death painless and quick?” Arlien demanded.

The runes in question were hidden deep inside the scout’s quiver, near the tip of the golden arrow, and only a handful of Brianna’s advisors knew about them. Fearing her subjects would regard the magic as rather cowardly, the queen had agreed to have the sigils inscribed only because Tavis swore his aim would not be true unless he knew her death would be painless.

Tavis scowled and stepped even closer to the prince. “How do you know about the runes?” The scout’s hand dropped to his sword as he made the demand. “You must have a spy in Castle Hartwick!”

When Arlien showed no interest in replying to the scout’s accusation, Brianna came to Tavis’s side and gently pulled the firbolg’s hand away from his sword.

“Of course Gilthwit has a spy in my court,” she said. All traces of her earlier suspicion had vanished from the queen’s voice. “We shouldn’t expect the king to send us one of his sons without knowing the situation in Hartsvale, should we?”

“It seemed only prudent,” Arlien acknowledged. “Of course, such measures will no longer be necessary when we are allies.”

In a carefully neutral voice, Brianna asked, “And this alliance is to be sealed by our marriage?”

The prince nodded.

“That seems drastic,” Tavis commented. Brianna shot him a reproving look, but the scout could not restrain himself. “Why not a treaty?”

“Because blood is more binding than ink,” Arlien replied. “Once we open the trade route, our kingdoms will be under many great pressures. To stand together, we must be a family.”

“I’m sure Arlien and his father have considered this matter very carefully, Tavis,” Brianna chided. She turned her gaze back to the prince. “I hope you’ll allow me time to do the same.”

The scout bit his cheek, afraid he would blurt out another objection. He could not believe Brianna would actually consider marrying a man she had met only that morning.

Arlien nodded. “Of course, Milady,” he replied. “And I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of accepting this, as a token of my sincere regrets for my unfortunate reaction this morning.”

The prince opened the box he had been holding. Inside, resting on a bed of white velvet, lay a fabulous necklace of thumb-sized jewels. The gems were shaped like teardrops, and they scintillated with a pale blue light that seemed to arise from deep within their own hearts. They had settings of elegant simplicity, a bell of white gold encircled with a single scribe line, and they hung on a finely woven chain of red gold.

Brianna gasped and plucked the necklace from the box, laying it across her hand. She began to roll the jewels about, smiling in delight as rays of azure light danced over her palm.

“They’re cold and warm at once!”

Arlien smiled. “We call them ice diamonds. Our miners dig them from the heart of the Endless Ice Sea itself,” he reported. “It’s said that as long as you wear these, you’ll never cry.”

Tavis was beginning to wish he had left Arlien in High Meadow. “It’s healthy for humans to cry.”

“Not for queens, Tavis.” Brianna arched her eyebrows at the scout, as if to ask his forbearance, then held the necklace out to Arlien. “You are completely forgiven, dear prince. Won’t you be kind enough to help me put this on?”

Arlien took the necklace. “Ice diamonds are but one of the many treasures Gilthwit has to offer,” he said, undoing the clasp. “My caravan had samples of all our riches, but this was all I could save when the frost giants attacked.”

“Whatever you lost, I’m happy you saved this.”

Brianna lifted her silky hair and spun around, inviting Arlien to slip the necklace around her throat. Because the queen stood so much taller than he did, the prince had to raise his arms above his head. As he reached forward, he suddenly let out a deep groan and stumbled back in pain. A trickle of blood seeped from beneath his cloak and ran down his armored leg. Brianna turned around and took the necklace from the prince’s hands, returning it to its silver case.

“Perhaps we’ll put it on later.” The queen took Arlien’s arm and led him toward the trapdoor. “Now you should rest We’ll speak more of alliances as we ride back to my castle tomorrow.”

Tavis moved to help, happy to be rid of the prince. As the trio approached the trapdoor, the scout heard urgent voices coming from the chamber below. By the time the three reached the opening, Earl Cuthbert’s barrel-chested form was clambering up the ladder. He was a round-faced man of fifty, with a balding head, squinting eyes, and a pair of crossed shepherd’s staves emblazoned on his leather jerkin.

The earl pulled himself onto the roof and gave the queen a perfunctory bow. “Have you seen them, Majesty?”

“Seen whom?” Brianna demanded, still supporting Prince Arlien’s frail form.

“Giants!” the earl reported. “Serfs have been coming in from all corners of the fief, and some claim the brutes have already surrounded us!”

Without waiting for a reply, Cuthbert scurried to the battlements. Brianna followed close behind, with Arlien limping along at her side. Knowing that it was already too dark to see any giants lurking on the distant hills, Tavis stayed behind and peered into the chamber below to see whom the earl had been speaking with earlier.

The scout found his friends Avner and Basil standing at the base of the ladder, a large oval mirror resting on the floor between them.

“What have you there?” the scout asked.

Avner looked up and smiled proudly. He was a sandy-haired youth of sixteen, with the fuzz of his first beard clinging to his chin.

“You’ll see soon enough.” As nimble as a mountain goat, the boy scrambled up the ladder, then immediately swung around and stuck his arms back through the portal. “Go ahead and pass it up.”

“It’s heavy,” Basil warned.

Without waiting for an invitation, the scout lay down next to the boy and stretched his own arms into the hole. Basil pushed the mirror up, then Tavis and Avner lifted the heavy thing through the portal. A pair of hinge pins mounted on the sides suggested it had come off some piece of precious furniture, such as Lady Cuthbert’s dressing table. The looking glass’s wooden frame was thoroughly covered with the familiar carved lines of Basil’s rune magic.