The stones grew colder as they descended. After a few minutes, Tavis’s bare hands felt so numb that he had difficulty feeling his handholds. It was impossible to tell how far they had come, or how far they still had to go. There was nothing but darkness below, with shadowy boulders and jagged, murk-filled passages advancing on them from all sides. In the bewildering array of gray corners and gloomy hollows, only the faithful tug of gravity prevented Tavis from losing his bearings and becoming completely disoriented.
A startled shriek broke from Orisino’s mouth and skipped through the crooked labyrinth in all directions, nearly concealing the clatter of the chieftain’s boots slipping free of their holds. Tavis pulled himself tight against the rock and twisted his hands and feet into the crack, locking himself in place. He gritted his teeth against the coming impact and silently cursed his companion’s clumsiness. Despite the frosty walls, the chute was no more difficult to descend than a ladder; as long as a climber kept a hand and foot lodged in the crevice at all times, falling was next to impossible.
Orisino did not land on him.
“Tavis, did you feel that?” The verbeeg’s voice was shrill with panic.
Tavis looked up and saw his companion dangling by a single arm, the soles of his hobnailed boots scant inches away. The chieftain was looking over his shoulder into a lopsided triangle of empty air.
The high scout freed one hand to take the dagger from his mouth. “The only thing I felt was you-almost knocking us both to our deaths. What’s wrong?”
Orisino gestured at the dark triangle. “Something pushed me! I felt a gust of warm air-a giant’s breath, maybe-then something big reached out of there and tried to push me off!”
Tavis raised his glowing dagger, illuminating the mouth of the dark passage Orisino had indicated. The high scout could not see far, but it was readily apparent that while a giant’s arm might squeeze through the hole, not even a verbeeg could actually crawl into it.
“I don’t see anything now,” the high scout said. “Maybe it was a bat.”
“It pushed me, like a hand!” Orisino insisted. “I’m not imagining this.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Tavis replied. “But we can’t do much about it now.”
The high scout returned his dagger handle to his mouth and continued downward. Orisino kicked his feet back into the crevice, then drew his own knife and followed. Their descent slowed significantly. Not only did the verbeeg insist upon keeping one hand free to hold his weapon, he spent more time peering into dark crannies than he did searching for handholds. Even then, he continued to cry out at random intervals, claiming that he smelled a foul odor or felt a gust of hot breath. Tavis never shared any of these sensations, nor did he hear the slightest clatter or flutter to suggest something was stalking them.
The high scout had finally decided his companion was imagining things when a sharp crack sounded above. A loud, clattering rumble reverberated down the chute, and the walls shuddered beneath the power of a tumbling boulder. Tavis pulled the dagger from his mouth and held it out over the trough, illuminating a pair of frost-rimed steps on the walls below.
“Jump!”
Knowing Orisino would leap for the closest step, the high scout jumped toward the one on the opposite wall. With the rumble reverberating ever louder in his ears, he dropped through eight feet of darkness and hit above the stair he wanted to reach. He turned his face toward the stone, scratching at the cold granite with his dagger and numb fingers.
A crack sounded from the center of the chute. The gray blur of a boulder bounced past his shoulder, with Orisino’s shrieking figure sliding down the trough close behind.
The stone vanished beneath the high scout’s face and chest, then he slammed onto the front half of the stair he had tried to reach. He flailed at the icy shelf with both hands.
A tremendous crash reverberated in the bottom of the chute.
Tavis’s glowing dagger caught in a crack and brought his fall to an abrupt halt. He glimpsed the blade bending under the sudden strain, then a sharp ping echoed through the cavern. Basil’s light rune abruptly faded, and the scout slipped.
Tavis released the hilt and grabbed for the broken blade. He felt a strange, painless sensation as the edge sliced into his numb palm, but he stopped sliding. He slipped the fingers of his free hand into the same crack where the blade had caught, then pulled himself onto the step.
A booming voice, deep but wavering with age, echoed down the chute. “You ’live, stupid thieves?”
Tavis did not respond, nor did Orisino-whether due to wisdom or injury, the high scout did not know.
“Answer Snad, stupid thieves!” quavered the giant. “You dead, or what?”
The dull-witted questions and low, booming voice left little doubt that Snad was a hill giant-but he was hardly an ordinary one. Though hill giants were clumsy and no more able to see in the dark than firbolgs, there had not been so much as a rustle or a glimmer of torchlight as this one slipped into place for his ambush.
“ ‘Kay, stupid thieves! Snad comin’ down,” the giant warned. “Better be dead when he gets there!”
Tavis cupped a hand to his ear and craned his neck to look up the chute. There was not the slightest rustle, nor the faintest gleam of light. For all the high scout could tell, Snad was a mere voice in the dark-a resentful voice.
Tavis crawled to the edge of his step, then lay on his belly and stretched his bleeding hand along the face of the dark granite. He barely managed to reach the center of the chute and slip three cold fingertips into the narrow crevice. The high scout pulled himself toward the opposite wall, at once swinging his legs off the stair and reaching for the fissure with his good hand.
The soles of his boots landed on the far side of the trough, slipped on the hoarfrost, and shot out from beneath him. Tavis started down the chute, then caught the crevice with his second hand and jammed a fist inside. The craggy stone scraped away long ribbons of skin, driving the numbness from his flesh, but the hand held. He brought himself to a halt.
Tavis resumed his descent, moving as quickly as he dared in the darkness. He had no idea whether Snad was descending the chute above or coming via another passage, but he suspected it would not be long before the hill giant arrived. Before then, the high scout wanted to have Orisino’s torch lit and be well down the trail.
A dozen steps later, the sole of Tavis’s boot came down on the jagged corner of a small boulder. He lowered himself onto the rock, then slipped down its side to something that felt like a jumbled platform of firewood. With a series of brittle cracks, his weight settled onto the sticks.
The sharp point of a sword poked Tavis in the short ribs. The scout leaned away from the tip and thrust a leg out, aiming a rear stomping kick just below the weapon. His boot sank into something soft. The breath left his attacker’s lungs with a muffled whumpf, then a ’kin-sized body slammed into a monolith and slumped to the floor. A series of receding clangs echoed through the cavern as the ambusher’s weapon skittered down an unseen slope.
Orisino simultaneously groaned and wheezed for breath. “Tavis… why’d… you do that?”
“Why did you stick a sword in my back?”
“I didn’t mean… any harm.” Aside from his lack of wind, Orisino sounded healthy enough. “I thought you were the giant.”
“He’ll be here soon enough,” Tavis replied. “Give me your torch.”
When Tavis reached down, the verbeeg grabbed the proffered hand and used it to pull himself up. “I don’t think a torch is smart. It’ll lead the giant straight to us.”
“He’ll find us anyway.” Tavis reached around the verbeeg and pulled the torch from his belt. “Until he does, we need to see where we’re going.”