Many of the giants snickered at their captive's defiance, but the bodyguard did not care. He knew their ridicule would soon change to disappointment. Whether Tavis was thief or hero-and Morten no longer knew which-the scout was a brave firbolg. He would die silently, especially if he understood that Brianna's life depended on it.
"You might as well kill us now," Morten added. "We're not going to scream."
"You'll run, Morten," said the queen. "And Tavis Burdun will scream."
The giantess picked up one of the iron bars Ig used to stir the fire and placed the end in the glowing coals, then pulled the fomorian away from the spit and motioned for him to put more wood on the fire.
Morten smiled, then locked eyes with the queen and waited. He had spent enough time in Castle Hartwick to know that the first rule of kings, at least those who wanted to stay king very long, was to keep their earls happy. The giantess was not exactly a king and her followers were not exactly earls, but the bodyguard was willing to gamble that she understood this principle as well as he did.
Soon the steam stopped rising from Tavis's cocoon. The stitching at the seams began to stretch, the first sign that the hides were shrinking, and the leather on the bottom side started to blacken. The scout's face turned pink, but he clamped his jaw shut and showed no sign that he would yell.
"You see?" Morten said. "He's not going to scream."
A concerned murmur rustled through crowd of hill giants. "No fun," one of them protested. "Scream, stupid firbolg!"
Tavis's lips formed a smile. "It's not that hot," he said, speaking through clenched teeth.
"Roasting firbolg stupid!"
"Yeah," agreed another giant. He pointed at Brianna. "Maybe girl scream!"
"No!" the queen thundered. She pulled Brianna closer to her chest. "We're taking her to the Twilight Vale."
Brianna's face, all that Morten could see of the princess, did not change expressions. She seemed far more concerned with Tavis's plight than what the giantess might have in mind for her.
"No fun," grumbled a giant. "Noote stupid."
When the big oaf turned away and others began to follow, Morten could not help smiling. Hill giants were like spoiled human children: one could always count on them to sulk.
The queen grabbed the poker she had placed in the fire, then thrust the handle into her husband's hand. "Call the rabbit run."
Noote stepped toward Morten, waving the poker's white-hot tip through the air. "Wait!" the chieftain yelled, addressing the backs of his departing subjects. "Time for run."
The giants paused, but only a few turned to face their chief. "Him not run." said one. "Firbolg too."
Noote grinned wickedly, then lowered the poker's tip and laid it against Morten's cheek. The firbolg heard a loud sizzle, then the sick odor of burning flesh filled his nose and his entire head burned with agony. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out, and even then he nearly choked on the silent scream rising into his throat. The pain filled his entire head, as though the god Vulcan had swung his flaming hammer into his skull.
When the agony had subsided enough that Morten could be sure he would not scream, he said, "I have no reason to run."
"Then Noote will give you a reason," growled the queen. She was so angry that she could not quite keep her voice from making the floor tremble. "You can run, or he'll burn your eyes out."
The bodyguard felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. It would be impossible to rescue Brianna if his captors blinded him. Still, he could not let them see his fear, or the princess was doomed.
Morten shrugged. "What use does a dead man have for eyes?"
The bodyguard looked away from the poker's white tip, distracting himself by fixing his attention on the spit. Tavis's blackened cocoon was now beginning to shrivel. From what Morten could see of the scout's face, he was suffering more from the shrinking leather than the heat. His cheeks had turned that peculiar crimson of someone being choked, and the veins in his temples were bulging.
Once again, the bodyguard found himself envious of the scout. From all appearances, the cocoon was squeezing Tavis's chest so tightly that the runt could not have screamed if he wanted to. But if Morten's eyes were burned out, he would have to rely on his own willpower to keep from yelling.
Noote kneeled beside Morten, then grabbed his head and twisted it toward the poker. "You 'fraid!" the chief insisted, moving the tip closer to the firbolg's eye. "Say it!"
"I'm not afraid," Morten replied. "But I will run-if you give me reason."
Noote stopped short of pressing the poker into the bodyguard's eye socket, but he continued to hold it so close Morten could feel the heat searing his eyeball. "What?"
"The princess," the bodyguard suggested. "Put her at the other end of the palace. If I carry her out the door, then we're both free."
"Fun!" chortled a giant.
"No!" burst the queen.
"Then burn my eyes out." Morten said. "I won't run for any other reason."
