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best aid her husband.
    As her fingers closed around a small glass rod, Avner cried, “Majesty, look!”
    The young scout was standing on his bench, pointing up Wyrm River. Brianna looked over the top of her sleigh and saw several fire giants near the bend in the canyon, belly-crawling down the river’s icy surface. They were not hiding—even the thought was absurd—but trying to distribute their weight across the ice so they did not fall through. They would soon outflank the Royal Snow Bears, for the company no longer had enough men to spread their lines across the frozen river.
    Brianna glanced back toward Tavis. When she saw him standing beneath his crag with another runearrow in hand, the queen took a pinch of powdered brimstone from her satchel and turned her attention to Wyrm River. She removed her goddess’s golden talisman from her neck and pointed it up the canyon.
    “Valorous Hiatea,” she said, “I call upon you to aid these brave and noble warriors in their just cause, that they may prevail against our enemies and ever serve your will.”
    The amulet, shaped like a blazing spear, began to glow, the golden fire dancing as though the metal had truly burst into flame. Brianna tossed her brimstone into the air, at the same time uttering her spell. A river of acrid amber fumes shot from the talisman and streaked up the canyon. When the yellow smoke reached its targets, it coalesced into a huge, roiling cloud that hung in the wind like a boulder in a cataract. The fire giants craned their necks at the billowing vapors, and the queen hissed the mystical word that would unleash the spell’s fury.
    With a thunderous crack, the yellow cloud burst, spilling a shower of sizzling, popping fire pellets onto the frozen river. The giants bellowed in surprise and leapt to their feet, the tiny balls of flame bouncing like hailstones off their black plate armor. Although Brianna could see that her blazing storm was hardly incinerating the fire giants, the brutes were nevertheless frightened—and with good reason. They had taken no more than three steps before a series of long, sharp crackles rang through the canyon. A hissing, impenetrable steam cloud rose about their legs. Almost as one, the entire group dropped through the thawing ice, filling the canyon with an eerie chorus of chattering and gurgling as their heavy armor dragged them beneath Wyrm River’s frigid waters.
    The agony in Brianna’s abdomen had grown worse. She felt as if someone were standing on her stomach, grinding hobnailed boots into her womb. Her knees were trembling, and the pain deepened with every breath. The queen grabbed a handful of Blizzard’s mane and cursed Radborne for taking so long to return with her midwife, then looked toward her husband.
    Tavis’s four attackers had discovered they could not dodge the firbolg’s deadly aim. Now they were rushing across the slope, pulling boulders out of the ground as they ran. Brianna could see stripes of blood streaking the armor of two giants, and the high scout was just drawing his bowstring to fire another runearrow. He would have plenty of time to plant his deadly shafts in the remaining foes long before they reached him.
    But even Tavis Burdun was not infallible. As he loosed Mountain Crusher’s bowstring, his target suddenly pulled a boulder out of the ground and stood upright. The shaft bounced off the giant’s armor and ricocheted down the mountain, disappearing into the midst of the melee. The high scout’s shoulders slumped. He could not detonate any of his runearrows without obliterating what remained of the Royal Snow Bears.
    The fire giants hurled their boulders. Tavis threw himself down the mountain to escape the barrage, and his foes sprinted forward.
    Brianna pulled a small stick of purple glass from her satchel. Her hands were trembling—whether from crushing pain or naked terror, she did not know. She pointed the glass rod at the giants and, squeezing the words up from deep within