Against the Giants (13 page)

A moment later, she stepped back as Malowan and Nemis leaned
into one of the huge slabs of wood. The door moved quietly back, just enough to
admit them. The mage pointed to the opening and shook his head, signaling that
there was no one on the other side of the door. To Lhors, the sight of that vast
door three times his height and thicker than his arm brought home that they were
about to enter a mighty hall, full of the dreadful creatures that had destroyed
his home. He bit his lip.

Vlandar was going in first, sword in one hand and a
heavy-bladed javelin in the other. Plowys was right on his heels. The rangers
followed. Khlened trailed after, then Malowan and his ward. Nemis gave Lhors a
smile probably meant to encourage him and gestured for him to go next. Lhors’
fingers moved across his dagger hilt—much good that would be against even a
half-grown giant! He pulled three javelins from his pack, gripped one in his
throwing hand, and drew a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. Nemis eased
the door shut behind him.

There was little light except for a flickering torch partway
down the passage that led to the guard tower. The place reeked of mold, rotting
food, and other things—he didn’t want to think about what they might be. Vlandar
turned to smile, then gestured for him to follow.

Rowan and Maera, listening intently, flanked the double doors
leading into the great hall. Khlened stepped forward to try the doors, but the
rangers gestured a firm
no.

Overhead, one of the tower guards was still coughing, and his
companion snarled something. The coughing subsided, there was a sudden
thump,
then Nemis grabbed Vlandar’s arm. “Everyone out of sight!” he hissed urgently.
“One’s coming down for wine!”

Vlandar signed,
enemy coming!
Rowan, Maera, and
Khlened were already out of sight. Lhors ran for the rack of cloaks, and as he
hesitated, Rowan leaned out to gesture for him to join her. Lhors did, but he
moved the cloak just enough so that he could still see.

Massive feet clomped down the wooden steps. The others seemed
well hidden. Lhors could see none of them except for Nemis, whose lips moved
silently—casting a spell perhaps. A keg near the tower hall briefly glowed a
dull red as the wizard’s magic set in. Some sort of revealing spell, perhaps?
Lhors wondered. The mage moved the other way, clambered over a long bench along
the west wall, and dropped out of sight.

Lhors’ attention was drawn away from the passage as he saw
movement in the center of the room. Someone stepped out from behind a stack of
kegs. Lhors could scarcely believe his eyes. Before anyone could catch him,
Plowys had thrown himself back into the open and begun brushing frantically at
his hair. Bugs from the cloak, Lhors thought. They must have a nasty sting.

Vlandar leaped back into sight, grabbed the would-be hero’s
arm, and began to try to haul him past the cloak rack. It wasn’t much shelter,
and Vlandar was checking to make sure the corridor beyond was empty when Plowys
caught his breath.

Light from a torch down the passage shone full on his face.
Vlandar clutched at Plowys’ arm to pull him back but missed. The youth ran
forward, drawing his sword as the door creaked open and a hill giant stepped
into the room. The gigantic wretch was as tall and dirty looking as those who’d
attacked Upper Haven, but he was obviously very drunk. The stench of foul ale
and cheap wine overpowered even the smell of the chamber. His eyes were
bloodshot and teary, and he held his spear in a wobbly, loose grip.

The giant stared at the youth, visibly puzzled as to how the
young man had come to be here. Plowys stiffened in shock at the sight of the
creature. The giant was more than twice his height and obviously more of a foe
than the youth had ever faced. The point of Plowys’ sword wobbled, and he took
a hesitant step back.

The tower guard took two quick steps forward and with one
swift motion, skewered Plowys on the end of his spear. Plowys’ sword rattled to
the floor as blood and bile gushed from his mouth and nose. Lhors leaned back
against the wall and bit his lip, praying he wouldn’t be sick.

Just then, Nemis spoke—another spell, perhaps. Lhors forced
himself to move, hands tight around his javelins. Vlandar came up next to him,
swords at the ready, but the young giant stared at them blankly. The spear fell
from his hands, and Plowys collapsed lifeless to the floor.

“Leave him be,” Nemis said very quietly. “I put a spell of
forgetfulness on the guard. He will come out of this shortly, fetch that cask,
and go back the way he came. We will avenge our companion at a more opportune
time.”

True to the mage’s word, the ensorcelled guard lumbered over
to the wine cask, his spear and the corpse completely forgotten. He hefted the
barrel, wobbled uncertainly, then proceeded back up the stair.

Malowan came into the open and gazed down at Plowys, his face
expressionless. “Thank the gods it was swift and that he didn’t bleed much.” He
glanced at Vlandar. “We cannot leave him here.”

Vlandar was tight-lipped and pale. Grief and rage played
across his features. “No,” he rasped. “We’ll go, all of us. We can take the body
back to the camp and bury him. Khlened, you and the rangers go now to make
certain there’s no one outside. We’ll gather Plowys and follow.”

“We’re leaving?” the barbarian asked. “Because of—”

“I don’t want us splitting up, and we can’t leave him here to
be found. We’ll try again tomorrow. Do as I say, Khlened.
Now.”

Khlened mumbled under his breath, but he turned and helped
the rangers drag the door open. After a brief glance out into the fog, he
followed Rowan out.

Malowan gathered up Plowys and gestured for Agya to go. Once
the girl was out the door, Vlandar grabbed the spear and pulled. There was a
sickening scrape as the haft ran against bone, and another gush of blood
splattered onto the floor.

Lhors winced and clamped his jaw shut. I will
not
be
sick! he thought.

Plowys’ dead face, his eyes wide and staring, gazed up at
the ceiling. It had obviously been a painful death, but a quick one. He had not
suffered long.

“Gods,” Vlandar gasped. “Curse the young idiot for his
foolishness! I should have been watching him more closely.”

Malowan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “You
did what you could. It’s too late to assign blame to anyone. What’s done is
done.”

Vlandar nodded. His jaw tightened as he turned away from the
corpse. He leaned the guard’s spear in the corner and mopped up the worst of the
blood with a cloak. After bundling the sodden fabric, the three of them hefted
the corpse and left the chamber.

* * *

It was nearly light by the time they’d placed the last rocks
on the grave—a deep, narrow cut in one of the shallower caverns. Vlandar gazed
at the down at the rubble. “Fool of a boy. His mother will tear her heart out.
She deserved better.”

“She had what she created,” Malowan said quietly. “A pity,
all the same. If we return to the king’s city, I’ll give her a tale to make her
proud of the boy. It’s the least I can do for my dislike of him.”

Shortly thereafter, the others went back to the cave, but
Lhors and Vlandar stayed behind.

“I should feel something,” Lhors said finally. “Even if he
wasn’t very nice, he was alive and now he’s dead.”

“It was sudden,” Vlandar said quietly. “Sometimes a man
doesn’t feel much when it happens like that.” He sighed. “I feel angry with the
youth and angry with myself for not having a better grip on him.”

“My father told me that when things like that happen, you
can’t change it, so there’s no point to being angry or upset. I did not like
him, but his mother cared, and he might have changed if he had lived.”

“Your father sounds like he was a wise man.” Vlandar squatted
down to sort through the slain youth’s weapons. He set aside the swords,
serviceable daggers, the case of javelins, the bow, and one small dagger—a
jeweled belt-toy Plowys probably used to clean his nails. Vlandar slipped the
lock of hair he’d cut from the youth’s head into the sheath and put the dagger
back. “This I will return to his mother, if I can. As for the rest of these, I
hope your father warned you that a sensible man never leaves behind weapons that
might be found and turned against him.” He handed the bundle of javelins to
Lhors. “You are next to Maera at skill with these, and the daggers may come in
useful.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lhors stuttered. “I’ll try not to let you
down.”

Vlandar got back to his feet, wrapped an arm around the boy’s
shoulders, and led him back to their cave. “I am not much worried that you will,
Lhors. Maybe though, if there’s a little time today, you and I will get
together, and I can show you a few tricks with those blades.”

“I’d like that.”

The next morning, the party again settled in clutches near
the fortress door while Nemis used a spell to be certain no guards were
immediately inside. Lhors stayed back on the road with Rowan, though he thought
it unlikely giants would see them in the dense fog. He doubted that such massive
creatures could sneak up on them either—until he remembered they had done just
that at Upper Haven. But there had been music and thunder that night. Dancing.
Singing. Joyous faces that he would never see again. Here it was very quiet, and
all faces were solemn.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out. Up in the tower
Lhors could hear the deep, rumbling voice of at least one guard. He drew his
javelins as Malowan leaned against one door, holding it ajar for the others.

There was still very little light. Vlandar headed for the
doorway into the banqueting hall while the rangers checked the other door. Both
gestured a negative, but Vlandar backed quietly away from the main doors, a
finger to his lips.

A good five paces away, Lhors could hear it: a distant noise
of laughter, singing, and the loud clash of metal. A battle? he wondered.
Vlandar got them all close together and whispered, “They are still feasting in
there. Rowan, what of the right door?”

“Quiet back there,” she replied softly.

“Everyone go right, then and up to the council chamber.
Remember, watch and listen—” He broke off and looked up as heavy, slow footsteps
came down the stairs from the tower.

“This grows boring,” Khlened mumbled and drew his sword.
Vlandar eyed his people, cast a quick glance at the main doors, and nodded
sharply.

“We kill him quick before anyone else hears,” he ordered
softly and pulled out his own sword. “One way to learn to fight as a team,”
Lhors heard him mutter. Lhors’ own hands felt cold as he bunched his spare
javelins and readied one to throw. For my father, he thought, and that seemed to
steady him.

The giant who came down the passage was young, but solidly
built and more awake than last night’s guard had been. He stopped when he saw
Khlened and smiled unpleasantly before hauling a heavy club from his belt.
“Thieves, be it?” His common was guttural. “Be a move up fer Fhrunk do I kill
ye, red-hair.”

“Try,” Khlened said and bared his teeth as he threw himself
forward.

He barely came to the monster’s belt, and the stab that might
have gutted a man his size went into Fhrunk’s calf, angling up to the knee. The
brute drew breath to yell in pain, but Rowan fired three arrows in rapid
succession. The first bit deep into his neck, silencing his scream. The next
bounced off his hardened leather cap, and the third just missed taking out his
eye. Maera’s throw was more accurate. Her javelin plunged deeply below the
brute’s sternum. The choking giant pawed at the javelin and slid to the floor.
Khlened and Vlandar ran up and plunged their swords into the back of his neck,
and the giant went limp.

Rowan was already at the east door. Nemis spoke in a low
voice, then signed for her to come back. “There are no others in the tower and
none nearby—no closer than that feast yonder.”

“Help us drag him out of the way,” Vlandar whispered
urgently. “There’s blood, but no help for that.”

“Toss one of the cloaks over it,” Maera said. “It’s such a
mess here, that might go unnoticed until he’s missed.”

It took all four men to drag the dead giant. Nemis and Rowan
kept watch while Agya and Lhors hastily piled two rugs and a cloak atop the
brute. “Good enough,” Vlandar said. “Let’s go.”

They could hear at least one more guard snoring up in the
tower. Rowan eased an arrow into place, slung her cloak off the left shoulder so
she could access more bolts, then nodded once. Maera stepped aside so Khlened
could ease the door open. Rowan backed up with the heavy slab of wood, then took
one long stride, spun halfway around and backed along the other side. A scant
breath later, those still outside heard the zip of an arrow slicing the air, a
faint, “Uhff!” followed by a nasty, deep cough, then the sound of something
large sliding to the floor.