Once Tavis arrived, the youth carefully passed Runolf to him. The scout waited for Basil to arrange his tools, then turned Runolf over so the verbeeg could paint the brow. A faint glow of yellow shone around the edges of the blindfold, but otherwise Runolf looked more or less normal for a disembodied head, with pallid flesh and a scalp as shriveled and dry as unoiled leather. He did not say anything or struggle at all, but seemed properly quiet, and still for a dead man.
Basil touched his brush to Runolf's brow. A wisp of yellow steam began to hiss from the spirit-guardian's mouth, but the lifeless head still did not resist or object. The runecaster worked slowly, showing no anxiety as he traced his lines. He did not use ink or paint. Rather, magic flowed from the brush itself, the tip trailing glowing green pigment wherever the runecaster drew it. The process took many minutes, and by the time the verbeeg had finished, the distance between Runolf's temples was completely covered with an intricate tangle of sticklike lines.
Basil lifted bis brush and wiped the tip on his cloak, then returned it to his satchel. "It's safe. I've usurped the shaman's magic-at least temporarily," he said. "Remove the belt, and Runolf's spirit will be ours to command."
Tavis turned the head facedown, then did as asked, keeping the blindfold ready just in case Basil's magic was not as effective as the verbeeg claimed. Runolf's flesh seemed to come alive beneath his fingers, once again growing supple and full. When the head did not try to attack, or show any objection to the runecaster's magic, the scout slowly turned him over. The pall of golden radiance that had covered Runolf's eyes was gone, replaced now by a shimmering yellow mist that was slowly evaporating into the air.
"Tavis," Runolf said. There was neither anger nor regret in his voice, only acknowledgement and recognition. "What I have done I did not choose."
"I know, Runolf," the scout replied. "And in my heart, the things I'll remember are those you did choose: to teach me well, and to serve your king in good faith."
"Thank you." he said, his face showing his relief. "You know you were a son to me."
Tavis nodded. "And I hope I made a proud father of you," he said. "But now we find ourselves facing each other like enemies, and you must tell me why."
"I'm not your enemy," Runolf replied. "And if you're loyal to Camden, you'll turn back and never mention what you've seen."
"The king has given me no commands, so I am free to pursue Brianna, and I will," Tavis replied. "But you must tell me why he gave his daughter to the ogres."
"I beg you, do not ask. To answer is to violate my duty-and yours."
"But I have asked," Tavis replied.
Runolf clamped his mouth shut, fighting against the command. The golden mist poured from his eyes in billows, and the glowing runes on his forehead shined as bright as flames. He began to tremble, and Tavis feared the strain of the internal battle would destroy the head.
Finally, Runolf's lips parted, and a low, croaking voice issued from his throat. "Payment," he said. "It was the price Camden paid the ogre shaman, Goboka, for helping him win the War of Harts."
A cold knot of outrage filled Tavis's stomach. "Camden sold his daughter for a kingdom?" he gasped. "A man who could do that is no king!"
"Not a firbolg king, perhaps," replied Basil. "But most other races-especially men-are easily capable of such betrayals. In fact, among my own people, treachery is considered a virtue for the ruling class."
"I'm not interested in the dishonest ways of your people," Tavis growled. "Nor am I interested in serving a king who holds power in such esteem that he betrays his own flesh to secure it."
"You're judging him too harshly," said Runolf. "When Goboka offered the ogres' help in return for Camden's firstborn daughter, the promise was an easy one to make. Brianna had not yet been conceived, and girls are rare among the Hartwicks."
"So I have heard," Tavis replied. Brianna herself had once explained that her husband would be the first king not descended by direct male lineage from the original Hartwick king. "The princess told me she was only the tenth girl-child in her line, and the first woman to become sole heir to the throne."
"Then you know the king never intended to give away his child," said Runolf. "But now, he must honor the promise. To refuse would mean war with the ogres, and thousands would suffer in Brianna's place."
Tavis's knees grew weak, his thoughts spinning in his head. Still holding Runolf in his hands, he sat on the ground and felt tears running down his cheeks. "Why?" he asked. "What do the ogres want with her?"
"I don't know," Runolf replied. "Neither does the king."
"A more interesting question is how this Goboka knew Brianna would be born," said Basil. "After a thousand years of kings, it seems strange he should ask for a princess shortly before one becomes the first female heir to Hartsvale."
