"Because he's not going to redeem himself by committing suicide," Basil said. "Which is exactly what he'll be doing if he tries to come after us while a clumsy verbeeg's up above him. I'm sure to send half the rocks in the ravine tumbling down on him-if I don't fall and crush him myself."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind, but Morten's too smart to risk an ambush up there," said Tavis. The scout would have suggested that Basil paint himself with the same rune he had used to levitate Morten, but the process would take far too long. "Unfortunately, we're going to have difficulties of our own. I can't help you both."
"Help me? Up that?" Avner scoffed, looking up the ravine. It was little more than a rock chute, so steep that, had there been a stream running through it, it would have been a waterfall. That's a stairway compared to some of the walls I've scaled."
Avner stepped in the ravine and began his ascent. He moved swiftly and surely, never taking more than one hand or foot off the rock, or lingering in one place more than a moment. The youth found handholds on the tiniest knobs of rock and braced his feet on stone faces so sheer it was hard to imagine what kept them from slipping. Tavis had seen many excellent climbers in his time-himself among them-but the boy put them all to shame.
Once Avner had ascended a short distance, Tavis nodded to Basil. "Your turn," he said. "You're big enough that you can climb the ravine like a chimney. Press an arm and a leg against each side, then move them up one at a time. I'll be right behind you in case you need help."
The verbeeg licked his lips. "You're sure I can do this?"
"Would you rather wait for Morten?"
Basil reached into the ravine and drew himself up.
Before following, Tavis nocked another arrow and turned around. He found his view of the mountainside below blocked by Blizzard's white-flecked frame. The mare was pacing back and forth, nervously nickering and glaring up the ravine.
"Sorry girl," the scout said, using Bear Driller's end to push her away. "You'll have to trust me from here. You can't follow where the ogres are taking Brianna."
The horse stomped her hoof, then withdrew a few paces. On the mountainside below, Tavis quickly found Morten, still charging up the slope and now easily within arrow range. The scout drew Bear Driller's string back, then aimed the tip of his arrow at the bridge of his target's nose.
The bodyguard's eyes widened in alarm, and he threw himself face first to the rocky ground. Tavis quickly adjusted his aim, then released his bowstring. The arrow hissed away. A loud ping echoed across the mountain as the steel tip struck the back side of Morten's breastplate, then the shaft ricocheted away.
Tavis smiled, then whispered. "That shot should slow down even an angry firbolg."
Needle Peak loomed across the valley, a granite minaret rising a thousand feet above the field of gray boulders surrounding it. Behind the spire lay the silhouette of the next mountain ridge, a jagged wall of stone and ice. To the pinnacle's south, the rocky meadow ended at the brink of a vast, murky abyss. From these gloomy depths came the dull roar of an unseen river, its frothing waters filling the air with a fine mist that bent the sun's light over the canyon in a stunning arc of red and yellow and blue.
The rainbow was the only colorful thing in the vista ahead. To the north of the pinnacle, the field ended beneath a wall of loose boulders and pearly ice, the terminal moraine of a large glacier. The snow field curved away for miles, slowly climbing toward a cirque in the mountain ridge.
Somewhere in the unseen valleys ahead were trees, or so Brianna had heard, but she could see only the gray and white ramparts of mountain chain after mountain chain, each higher and more icy than the last, until the peaks grew so lofty and snowy she could no longer tell them from the clouds. The princess had never before ventured beyond the borders of her father's kingdom and gazed on the vast expanse of the Ice Spires. The sight filled her heart with a despair as dark and deep as the abysses hidden ahead.
A dozen paces down the couloir, Goboka stopped. The ogre shaman lifted a boulder off the bottom of the narrow trench, then began a careful examination of the stone. Brianna's ogre-or more accurately, the one carrying her across his shoulders-stopped to wait, bracing one hand against the couloir wall to keep from sliding down the steep slope. The other survivors of Brianna's ambush simply sat down, holding themselves in place by kicking their heels into the loose scree. Both warriors were lightly burdened, one carrying a handful of waterskins and the other Runolf's head. The head was all that remained of the unfortunate traitor, for Goboka had eaten the rest.
