Now Brianna wanted to marry a man she hardly knew, a foreign prince, and treat Tavis as her husband! The firbolg could not help questioning her judgment. His understanding of human behavior was limited, but to him such a proposal sounded like a formula for war. Although Arlien had reacted graciously enough when he had stumbled upon them embracing, the prince seemed a man of honor. He would certainly expect his wife to abide by the sacred vows of marriage.
The vows were another matter. Tavis had heard them many times, and they spoke of such things as devotion, fidelity, obedience, a giving of the self. How could Brianna swear those things to the prince of a distant kingdom? By giving herself to Arlien, she was also giving Hartsvale to him. If the earls objected to the queen presenting all that to a citizen of their own country, surely they would object to having it given to a foreigner! Or maybe not. Brianna certainly hadn’t seemed to think so, and she was astute about such things.
Tavis ripped a strip off his bandage cloth, then tied the dressing around his palm. Being in love with Brianna was a confusing thing, and it was getting more baffling all the time. The firbolg had endured the past year only by hoping that once she established herself as queen, she would feel secure enough to marry him. But with Arlien’s arrival, that hope had grown distant. Now, the scout could look forward only to protecting Brianna while she raised another man’s children. He didn’t know how he could endure that possibility, but he would find a way. He had to; he had sworn to defend the queen until her death, and firbolgs did as they pledged.
Tavis picked up his whetstone and drew it down his sword in a light, smooth stroke. He would concentrate on his duties and face each day as it came. Maybe Hiatea would look more favorably on him tomorrow, and if not, then perhaps the day after.
The candle flame gave a contemptuous hiss, then finally sank into the wax and pitched Tavis into dank blackness.
Avner knelt before the locked door and examined the keyhole by the light of a flickering candle. The latch was secured by a primitive ward lock, strong but easy enough to pick. The youth put Basil’s satchel aside, then reached inside his tunic and withdrew a set of flat metal bars affixed to an iron ring. The tools came in many different sizes, but all were shaped roughly like skeleton keys, with a wide variety of notches and grooves cut into the end tabs. He selected the tool of the proper size and slowly worked it into the keyhole, twisting gently from side to side until he felt it slip past the wards. He gently turned the implement, engaging the bolt.
The lock had barely clicked open before the chamber door flew ajar, jerking the ring of picks from Avner’s hand.
“By Karontor!” Basil hissed. The verbeeg dropped to his hands and knees, trying to squeeze his bony shoulders through a portal meant for humans half his size. “I thought you’d never come for me!”
Avner quickly blocked the doorway. “I didn’t come for you,” he corrected. “I came to see you.”
“Then see me outside.” The runecaster started to crawl forward.
Avner planted both his palms on Basil’s crooked nose and pushed, forcing the astonished verbeeg back into his gloomy chamber. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Anywhere,” Basil answered. He peered past the boy’s shoulder, his baggy eyes wild with desperation. “Anyplace is better than this.”
Avner glanced around the room. Although the earl’s men had removed the furniture to make room for the verbeeg, they had been kind enough leave an oil lamp and throw several straw mattresses across a sturdy table to make a bed. There was even a barred window overlooking the inner ward, its shutters thrown wide open despite the cold predawn breeze.
“This isn’t so bad, especially considering you’ll end up in the dungeon if you try to leave,” Avner said. “The castle’s crawling with soldiers, and they’d spot someone your size in a minute. It was tough enough to get this back.” The youth reached around the corner and retrieved Basil’s satchel. “Besides, where do you think you could go? Into the hills with the giants?”
“Perhaps,” Basil replied. “Or maybe I could hide in the library.”
“That’s the first place they’d look,” Avner said. He pointed to the makeshift bed beneath the window. “Besides, how long has it been since you had something that comfortable to sleep on?”
“How can a prisoner sleep?” Basil demanded. “While I languish here, life outside is passing me by.”
Avner rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent weeks in pits slimier and darker than this. You haven’t been here one night” He took his picks from the lock, then pushed the door closed. “What kind of thief is afraid of jail?”
“One should not be punished for acting in accordance with the principles of one’s race,” the runecaster replied. “And if you’re not here to free me, what do you want? At this hour of the morning, I doubt you’ve come to pass the time.”
“We’ve got to do something about Arlien.” Avner went to sit on the table, dragging Basil’s huge satchel with him. “The prince is coming between Tavis and Brianna.”
Basil sank to his haunches and sat facing the youth. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Avner opened the satchel and removed half a dozen apples he had taken from the earl’s kitchen. He kept one for himself and tossed the rest to Basil. “The good prince came to marry her.”
“I realize that,” the runecaster replied. “But I fail to see what we can do about it.”
Basil slipped an apple into his mouth. He crushed it with a single chomp and swallowed it, stem, core, and all.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to prevent a marriage.” Avner bit into his own apple.
Basil raised his bushy eyebrows. “Assassinate the prince?”
Avner sighed in exasperation. “I was hoping we could think of something less drastic. I’m not trying to start a war.”
Basil popped another apple into his mouth and gnashed it slowly. “Runes of the heart are hardly my area of expertise,” he said. “But I do have a trick or two that might help our cause-perhaps a rune of stammering or foul odors.”
“Good!” Avner said. “The prince can’t court Brianna if he smells bad-but it’ll have to be subtle. We don’t want the queen to realize what we’re doing.”
“Of course not,” Basil agreed. He glanced forlornly around the room, studying the gloomy stone walls. “But the rune requires modification, and I can’t concentrate here.”
“What are you saying?” Avner demanded. “This chamber’s not much smaller than your study at Castle Hartwick, and you stay in there for days!”
Basil’s eyes lit up. “Yes, but I have my books,” he said. “Perhaps, if I had something to occupy my attention, this dreary room would seem more like a proper office.”
Avner shook his head. “Not on my life!” he said. “Filching your satchel and a few apples is one thing, but if Earl Cuthbert catches me with his folios, he’ll feed us both to the giants!”
Basil’s gray eyes grew as hard as the stones of his cell. “Then I hope you enjoy weddings.”
Avner tore a big piece from his apple. He gnawed on this for a time, then said, “Just one, and I take it back as soon as you’re done.”
“Very well. Even I can read only one book at a time.” A treacherous gleam appeared in Basil’s eye, then he added, “Of course, the magic of my rune might last longer if I had no fear of growing bored.”