Without taking his eyes off the dance, Tavis leaned toward Princess Brianna. "I hope you're enjoying yourself." He had to speak loudly to make himself heard over the giant's crackling voice. "This banquet won't equal the ball at Castle Hartwick this evening, but the children wanted to show their gratitude for all your help."
"There's no need to thank me," she said. "As a priestess of Hiatea, I must help." Hiatea was a deity of the giants, but many humans in Stagwick also worshipped her as the goddess of nature, family, and child-rearing. "And besides, it's no trouble."
"My lady, you're too modest," Tavis said. In the few months since he had found himself in charge of the orphans, the princess had made the long ride from Castle Hartwick at every opportunity, always bearing gifts of clothing and other necessities for the children. "I suspect you'd help us even if your goddess did not wish it."
"Certainly not!" snorted the lord mayor. The princess would never consort with rabble by choice."
Brianna graced Earl Dobbin with an acid smile. "To the contrary, Lord Mayor," she said. "If I were to shun all the rabble in the kingdom, I should have to lock myself away from my father's courtiers and instruct my servants to admit no one but these poor orphans."
Karl Dobbin's face darkened, and Brianna returned her attention to Kwasid. The fire giant was near the end of his performance, kneeling on the floor, his torso whirling wildly and his fingertips trailing cyclones of yellow flame.
Kwasid's gyrations stopped, and he threw his chin back, arching his spine until the crown of his skull touched the floor. His eyes flared like embers, and, with a tremendous shudder, he sprang high into the air. The giant's hands streaked furiously about his body, weaving a fiery orb of suck brilliance that Tavis could hardly bear to look at it.
Kwasid's voice erupted in a booming crescendo. The sphere vanished in a blazing flash of gold, leaving the fire giant standing in the center of the room with his upraised palms pressed against the hall's smoking roof. His breath came in broken gasps, as hot as forge gas and twice as mordant. The room remained entirely still, everyone at the banquet table too frightened or stunned to speak.
Before the dazed audience could gather its wits to applaud, a dull boom sounded from the courtyard. "Unbar these gates!" cried a man's muffled voice. "By the authority of Lord Mayor Dobbin, open up!"
Noting that he could no longer hear the verbeeg's footsteps echoing through the streets. Tavis rose and bowed to Brianna.
"Excuse me, Princess." he said. "Avner may be reluctant to open the gale to the earl's men, so I'd better answer it myself."
The scout stepped to the chimney, where his hickory bow. Bear Driller, hung. Runolf had helped him make the weapon, which was as famous as the firbolg himself-and a foot taller. As he took the bow and its arrow quiver off the hooks, Brianna's violet eyes flashed in alarm.
"Surely you don't need that to talk to the lord mayor's men?" she gasped.
"Just a precaution, Tavis said, pausing to give the princess a reassuring smile. The scout was in no hurry, for the lord mayor's guards had long ago learned that it angered the giant traders who stayed at the inn to have the gates of their lodging battered down. "With verbeegs about and the guard pounding at the gate, it's better to be cautious."
Runolf also rose. "With your permission. Princess. I'll go with Tavis." As he had all morning, the sergeant spoke rather softly when he addressed Brianna, an amusing contrast to the courage with which the man confronted dragons and marauding giants. Glancing at Earl Dobbin, Runolf added. "Perhaps the lord mayor would like to come along?"
The earl scowled at this suggestion. "I'll stay with Brianna, in case something unfortunate should happen."
Brianna's bodyguard, who had spent the entire banquet standing at the wall behind the princess, stepped forward. "No need for that," he grunted. "That's why I'm here."
Like Tavis, Morten was a firbolg-but the semblance ended there. With a stout frame and a height of twelve feet, the bodyguard was as large for their race as the scout was small. He had a broad nose with an orb-shaped end, brown eyes the size of gruel bowls, and a mane of red hair that would have put a glacier bear to shame. Though his face showed no emotion, his eyes were as alert as those of an eagle, and the huge sword hanging from his belt suggested that if something unfortunate happened. Earl Dobbin's help would not be required to protect the princess.
Nevertheless. Tavis faced the cautious earl. "Do as you think best, Lord Dobbin." He tried to keep the spite out of his voice, trusting the princess would note the lord mayor's cowardice without his help. "I doubt there'll be trouble, and I'm sure you'll enjoy the elder, berry tarts the children have made."
