The Ogre's Pact Read Online Free PDF Page B

penance. A crow screeched, then the crack of a snapping branch ricocheted through the aspen trees. Catching a faint whiff of something sour and rancid, like curdled milk, Brianna twisted around to face the forest. She saw a black flash as the crow rose through the quivering canopy of leaves, but that was all. Among the white thinks, nothing stirred.
    Still, the smell did not vanish, and Brianna glanced over her shoulder. “Will you hurry, Morten?” she called. “I smell something.”
    The firbolg’s chin rose and he sniffed at the breeze, but he did not seem to smell anything. Nevertheless, from somewhere he summoned the strength to sprint. A dozen thudding steps later, he stopped at Brianna’s side and braced his hands on his knees. He lifted his head and tried to catch the scent, but he was gasping so hard he could not draw air through his nose.
    “I don’t smell anything,” he wheezed.
    “The odor’s not very strong,” Brianna said, “but it’s sour.”
    “Maybe bear or elk,” Morten suggested. “They both stink.”
    Brianna scowled. “Wouldn’t I know if it was an animal?” As a priestess of Hiatea, she was familiar with all the creatures of the wild, able to identify any one of them by their tracks, droppings, calls-or scent. This is too rancid. It’s more like a goatherd’s cheese hut.”
    The firbolg went pale, the fatigue draining from his face as though he had just risen from a nap in a shady snowbank. Fixing his gaze on the woods ahead, he raised himself to his full height and tightened the buckles of his armor. “Ogre!” he hissed.
    “You can’t be serious,” Brianna scoffed. She found herself craning her neck to look up at her bodyguard, despite the fact that she still sat upon her big mare’s back. “No ogre would dare come this close to Castle Hartwick.”
    Evidently, the firbolg did not share her conviction. He pulled his helmet down and drew his huge sword. “Wait here.” he said. “I’ll scout the wood.”
    “We’ll go together,” Brianna countered. She was far from convinced that something as dangerous as an ogre lurked in the woods ahead. “I don’t have time to wait.”
    “Better late than dead,” the firbolg grunted. “Besides, the dance doesn’t start until dusk. We’ve got plenty of time.”
    “I will have to bathe and dress,” Brianna snapped. “Or do you suggest I enter the ball smelling of horse and trail?”
    “You weren’t worried about that before you found Tavis hiding the verbeeg.” Morten replied. “You just want to get home so you can cry.”
    “Cry over a firbolg?” Brianna scoffed. Despite her retort, the princess felt the tears welling in her eyes. Looking away, she added. “It’s the orphans that concern me. Tavis may try to take them with him.”
    “Why?” asked Morten. “They’d only make his life harder.”
    “Fire giants will trade silver and gold for human children.”
    Morten shook his head. “No firbolg would do such a thing.”
    “We have no idea what Tavis might or might not do, but it’s better not to take chances.” Brianna’s tone was at once certain and regretful. “Besides, Tavis isn’t really a firbolg. He was raised among our kind, not yours.”
    It way common knowledge that Tavis had been born under what the firbolg’s called a “red moon,” meaning his mother had died in childbirth. In accordance with the tribe’s stern code of justice, the infant had been held responsible for the death and banished. A visiting bear trapper had carried the babe to Stagwick’s only lodge, where the kindly Isa Wirr had taken the child to raise among the kingdom’s many other orphans.
    “It doesn’t matter who raised him.” Morten said. “Tavis’s, blood is firbolg. It’d freeze in his veins if he tried to sell those children into slavery.”
    “There’s nothing I’d like to believe more.” The princess had to struggle to speak around the catch in her throat. “But we can’t ignore that verbeeg thief. If