The rain of arrows pounding the trio's shields dwindled to a trickle, then died away completely as the ogres scrambled to dodge the canopies of tattered hides and splintered tree trunks being hurled at them by the hill giants. Morten and Brianna tossed the heavy bucklers aside and, dragging Tavis between them, scrambled away from the ogre lines, following the fomorians toward the nearest stand of fir trees.
As the trio sprinted into the copse, powerful jolts and heavy shocks began to rumble from the direction of the Fir Palace. Tavis glanced back and saw that the ogres had recovered from the initial shock of their foes' charge and were again firing. A handful of hill giants already lay sprawled on the ground, and several others were taking their last lurching steps. But many more were still charging forward behind their huge shields, their long legs carrying them toward their enemies with incredible speed.
A different kind of crashing began to roll across the field: the sound of massive clubs smashing anything that might conceal an ogre archer. Fir trees came tumbling down, boulders went clattering across the valley floor, hillocks of soft ground burst apart. Tavis and his companions did not tarry to watch the carnage, but continued deeper into the stand. The sudden reversal of the battle's course made little difference to them. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the victors, whether ogres or hill giants, as possible.
By the time they finally caught the fomorians, Tavis could hardly stand. His vision had narrowed to a long black tunnel, his shaking legs could barely support him, and his throat was so swollen he feared it would close up entirely. Fighting the urge to collapse, he staggered over to the bank of the tiny stream where their allies had stopped, then threw himself face first into the cold waters.
When he finished drinking, the scout found Brianna and Morten standing next to him. From outside the thicket, the constant thunder of hammering clubs and falling giants suggested the combat had grown even more intense during the few moments it had taken him to quench his thirst.
Ig and the dancing girl had crossed to sit on the opposite shore and were calmly pulling apart the rotten carcass of a deer they had apparently brought from the Fir Palace in the cook's shoulder satchel. Although the meat was so putrid that even an ogre wouldn't have eaten it, Tavis was not surprised to see the pair gorging themselves on it. The fomorian diet consisted of the most noxious, virulent refuse that they could find-and if something was too fresh, they would often take it home to rot for a time.
Brianna placed her hand on Tavis's shoulder. "If you've quenched your thirst, I should cast my spells."
The scout was disappointed to see that the princess did not meet his eyes. He started to ask if something was wrong, then thought better of it and remained silent. Of course something was wrong. Last night. Brianna had learned the truth about her father's betrayal. Tavis could only guess how that knowledge made her feel-sad, angry, lost perhaps-but he knew for certain that those emotions would be as powerful as the terrible despair he was feeling over Avner's loss.
In the back of his mind, the scout kept hearing the boy's footsteps padding through the thicket. He half expected the young thief to appear and announce that the whole thing had been an elaborate joke, but Tavis knew that would not happen. Thousand-foot falls were not jokes. Avner was gone, and all the wishful thinking in the world would not bring him back.
When Tavis made no move to lie down, Brianna gently pushed him onto his back and purified his injuries with blessed water, then laid her amulet on his stomach wound. "I'll start with this one."
"No." Tavis moved the talisman up to his sternum. The stomach wound was by far the most dangerous and agonizing of his injuries, but he didn't care. He had no intention of allowing Brianna to go the way of Avner, and he would be better able to defend her if his bruised chest did not interfere with drawing his bowstring. "If you only have two spells, cast them on my chest and my arm."
Brianna frowned. "This is only a bruise," she said, touching his discolored sternum. "It isn't dangerous."
"It hinders me when I pull my bow," the scout replied. "And right now, that's more dangerous than any wound I have."
The princess nodded, then did as he asked. Tavis could not help hissing as Hiatea's symbol began to glow with white heat, searing his already scalded skin.
The sound drew gap-toothed smiles from both fomorians.
"I thought we were on the same side," Tavis complained.
"Pain good," replied the female. She gave Ig a coy smile, then added, "Pain mean you alive."
"Then maybe you'd like some of your own," growled Morten.
