From the high window they see the hilltop spread out before them. It is plainly the ruins of an enormous city—the cunning work of giants, now in shambles—and the "cliff" is a half-fallen time-slumped wall still five hundred feet high. Across it all, the intersecting sunken lanes shape letters that prod their brains, a third clue in dark and fiery runes, pointing them down, down, to where the giant king sleeps gripped in the ground.