The Ogre's Pact by Troy Denning

Giant Guard, they had been sent by their chieftains to protect Camden. In return, the king allowed traders from the giant tribes to use Hartsvale as a peaceful gathering place.
    ONCE Hauk’s sentry had crossed the bridge and reclaimed his halberd from the sergeant, Gavorial’s sonorous voice echoed across the chasm. “Keep an arrow ready for that verbeeg, Tavis Burdun!” he called.
    “The king’s safety rests in your hands!”
    After Tavis pulled an arrow from his quiver, the two giants withdrew inside the castle. Gavorial and Hrodmar would not be coming across the Clearwhirl, for even the Earls Bridge could not support such a tremendous weight. To enter Castle Hartwick, true giants forded the Clearwhirl on the opposite side of the island, then climbed a long and wearing path to the Giants Gate.
    A blast of trumpets rang out from the castle walls, then the king and his retinue appeared. A looming figure who stood more than two heads above the earls and court officials surrounding him, Camden was built as solidly as a castle tower, with thick, sturdy legs and hulking shoulders that bulged like a bear’s beneath his ermine cape. His long strides carried him across the bridge at a brisk pace, leaving his retainers to scurry along behind.
    Soon, Tavis could see that Camden had already donned his ceremonial crown in preparation for the evening’s festivities. It was a gaudy band of gold with seventeen bejeweled points, one for each of the giant tribes that had pledged friendship to Hartsvale. From beneath this circlet hung the king’s two hair braids, while he wore his heavy beard trimmed into the neat square favored by the nobility.
    Camden stepped off the bridge, brushing by Hauk and the two sentries without a word. He stopped directly in front of Tavis.
    “What’s this about my daughter?” the king demanded. He was even taller than Brianna and could look Tavis more or less directly in the eye. “Where is she?”
    Knowing of no easy way to report what had happened. Tavis said simply, “The princess has been taken by ogres.”
    Camden’s face did not darken with anger, or pale with fright, or even go blank with shock. It fell with despair, as though nothing could be done about what the scout had reported.
    “Ogres,” the king repeated softly.
    The reaction puzzled Tavis, for Camden was a bull of a man, given to epic rages and stormy rantings. To see the king take the news as he had was akin to seeing a badger lie down and whimper as the hounds came to tear it apart.
    Camden’s small entourage arrived. The retinue stopped a respectful distance away, but two men continued forward until they were within a single pace of their monarch. One was Bjordrek, whom Tavis had spoken with on two occasions, but the other the scout had never seen. The fellow was portly and bald, wearing so much gold jewelry that he sparkled like a sun dog in the afternoon light. He carried a silver staff shaped liked a fork of lightning, the symbol of the god Stronmaus.
    Camden motioned the bald man toward Morten’s floating form. “Simon, see to Morten.”
    Calling two assistants to help him, Simon slipped past Tavis and took charge of the floating bodyguard. The trio pulled Morten down the road to an area of level ground in front of the watchhouse, then pushed him to the ground.
    As the cleric rubbed the rune off Morten’s chest, Tavis turned his attention back to Camden. “Your Majesty, have you received other reports of ogres?”
    “Of course not!” the king snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Why ask such a thing?”
    “Because it didn’t surprise you to hear there were ogres in the kingdom.”
    Camden’s face reddened, and he clenched his fists. “What are you saying?” the king yelled. “That I allowed my daughter to fail into ogre hands?”
    The scout quickly shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “But I thought that might explain why Runolf-“
    “Runolf was here?”
    “He stayed the night at my inn,” Tavis replied,