Against the Giants (30 page)

The third yelled a clear warning down the passage, trying to
be heard by the other guards down that passage, Lhors was sure of it. The brute
began edging away from them along the wall, easing toward the east.

“Stop him!” Vlandar shouted. “He’s after reinforcements!”

But Nemis was already halfway across the room, pelting the
creature one-handed with small objects. In his right hand, he was waving a
feather.

“Man’s gone mad!” Khlened said, aghast, and hurled himself at
the giant. To his astonishment, the massive brute turned and eyed him glassily,
then snickered. The laughter welled, tears rolled down the giant’s cheeks, and
he clutched his sides. As Khlened stared blankly, the giant gasped for air,
still laughing hysterically, then sagged into the wall and slid down it.

Lhors gaped at the giggling, fur-clad mass of giant, then
eyed Nemis sidelong.

The mage grinned at him. “One of my favorite spells. He’ll
laugh until he passes out from lack of wind. By the time he recovers, we shall
be long gone.”

“But he’ll raise the alarm,” Lhors said.

Nemis shook his head and held up a pinch of powder. “With
this under his nose he won’t recall a thing that’s happened this entire day.”
The mage had to raise his voice to be heard over the crazed laughter.

The giant tangled in the morning star was beginning to show
signs of consciousness. Bleryn came up behind him and drove his sword deep into
the creature’s throat, then backed away as blood arced across the chamber and
ran down the far wall. The dwarf turned away, teeth set in a mirthless grin. “So
should all’ve ’em die,” he snarled.

“Not all,” Malowan said evenly.

The dwarf glared at him. Khlened tugged at Bleryn’s sleeve
and led him aside, talking rapidly in a low voice. Probably explaining about
paladins—at least this particular paladin, Lhors thought. The dwarf looked
skeptical but finally shrugged.

The insane giggling had been fading and suddenly ceased. The
giant lay limp against the wall, eyes closed and mouth open. Nemis mumbled to
himself a moment, then nodded in satisfaction and smeared the powder under the
creature’s nostrils. He was vigorously scrubbing his finger down his cloak as he
stepped back.

“Let us go,” Vlandar said. He led the way into a passage in
the east wall that immediately bent south. A short distance on, Malowan, Gerikh,
and Agya edged around him. Nemis again brought up the rear.

Like the previous passages and chamber, the ice let in a
greenish light so that they could see a goodly distance both ways. The floor was
solid ice, but so tracked with hair from hides, mud, dirt and bits of crushed
stone that it might as well have been stone. They stopped halfway down to rest,
then went on around the bend, heading toward the Rift ledge once again.

They emerged from the tunnel to a bone-chilling wind. At
Vlandar’s gesture, Agya and Malowan crept close to the edge while the rest of
the company waited in the shelter of the tunnel. Florimund, who leaned heavily
on Maera, whispered something against her ear. She nodded and led him over to
where he could sit with his back against the wall. Malowan and Agya returned
swiftly, and the paladin signed something to Vlandar that Lhors couldn’t follow.
The warrior brought them back up the passage and took out the map from the
Steadings trove. He set Nemis to keep watch while Malowan did the same to the
rear.

“Our way is out there,” he told them quietly. “Left though.
See here”—he pointed at an area on the map—“where another tunnel heads east then
bends south from a three-way join? The center tunnel opens into a cavern where
there are hiding places with guards behind them. We shall see.”

Florimund whispered something to Maera. The ranger, who’d
settled herself and Florimund several paces back, murmured something to her
sister, who cast up her eyes but came over to speak to Vlandar.

“Warrior,” she said softly. “Florimund remembers this place.
He
thinks.
He recalls cold and three tunnels branching. He says his
guards went by the lowest one. He remembers little from there except for a vast
chamber and a throne. He says his guards were afraid of the middle way.”

“Afraid?” Vlandar asked. “Why?”

She shrugged, but Maera came over then, her lips set. “He
does not speak Giantish, Vlandar. Oh, certain words as any prisoner might learn.
But like most of our kind, he is sensitive to atmosphere, even if not as
sensitive as a true elf. He sensed the fear in his guards’ speech the same as I
would.”

Rowan grimaced. She looked apologetic. Likely because Maera
is always angry, Lhors thought. It seemed a foolish point for anger. Vlandar was
right to wonder what the ex-prisoner knew and how, since he seems to remember so
little otherwise. Maera was already deep in some discussion with Florimund,
their heads close together.

“We will not take the south passage,” Vlandar said quickly
and very quietly, as if he did not want the rangers or Florimund to overhear
him. “There is a mark on the map—Nosnra’s, if Nemis is right—and it cuts across
the south passage. Nemis or Mal can check for us, but by this map, Nosnra saw
the left passage as a dead end but the other as deadly. This leaves the middle
passage or the Rift itself.”

“Was up t’ me,” Agya broke in firmly, “th’ Rift is dead last.
Somethin’ down there smells worse’n anything I ever found in city, even in th’
Sink. I’d wager somethin’ nasty down there kills things but eats only bits and
leaves th’ rest to stink.”

“I agree,” Malowan said. He’d come back to join them. He
cupped a small charm in his hands, and his eyes were still fixed on their
backtrail. “Pure evil dwells in those depths, but the descent would kill us
before we encountered it. The walls are steep and iced, and the wind is dire.
There is nothing close behind or aware of us back there. We had better go.”

Vlandar nodded and put Lhors next to him as they set out
again. Nemis lead the way, and Malowan brought up the rear.

They paused briefly at the three-way branch when Agya
gestured urgently. The little thief clutched Malowan’s free hand as she slid
into the left-hand passage, her nose twitching. Her hands moved in sign, too
rapid for Lhors to follow, and the two retreated quickly.

“Ogres,” Malowan whispered, “and no moving air. It’s a dead
end.”

Florimund seemed to be arguing with Maera and Rowan and
gesturing feebly toward the southwest branch. Lhors thought Maera looked angry
with her sister, but the two rangers came quietly, holding up their fellow as
Vlandar started down the center passage. He slowed as the passage narrowed,
tested the air himself, listened intently, then sent Nemis and Malowan both
ahead, keeping everyone else back.

“Giants, or somethin like,” Agya whispered. She was right at
Lhors’ elbow and cross because Malowan hadn’t taken her with him. “No wolves,
though—I don’t think.”

Khlened and Bleryn argued briefly with Vlandar. Of course
they’d want to bellow and charge in, letting surprise give them an advantage.
Vlandar simply shook his head and shifted the grip on his sword as he settled
against the wall to wait.

Malowan was back almost at once. He held up eight fingers,
then the sign for “giants.” Nemis returned some moments later and beckoned
everyone close.

“I used my beneath notice spell and got into the chamber
itself. There’s a giant at the entrance to a fairly large cave, here”—he drew a
knife and scratched lines in the ice wall. “They cannot all be seen from the
entry, and they can watch each other. They’re an elite bunch, not like the last
ones. One hidden south of the entry and four back behind a ledge that divides
the cavern.” The mage waited until everyone had a chance to look at his sketched
map, then used a spell to melt a little of the ice, erasing it. “There’s one
that’s different, though. The rest were all business, but he was laughing,
gossiping, or just nattering from the sound of it.”

Seven elite guards and one elder. It didn’t sound to Lhors as
though it made better odds for them. Vlandar seemed to think the same way. His
face was very grim. “Weapons?” he asked.

“Pikes and spears, plus some boulders to throw. There’s too
many for a straight-on attack, and the ones behind that ledge are ready to
ambush anyone who attacks the others. We need a plan before we go in.”

Vlandar squatted on his heels and brought out the map. Nemis
indicated where the ledge was and where he’d seen or sensed guards. “Eight of
them, ten of us, but
we
aren’t all fighters.”

“And they’re at least twice our size and in familiar
territory,” Malowan added.

“Two of us have magic,” Khlened put in, “plus a thief, and
th’ rangers and Lhors with spears and bow.”

Lhors was surprised. The berserker might actually be learning
that not every battle had to be a melee. Dead berserkers cannot spend treasure,
the youth thought.

Vlandar nodded. “Good thinking. The way the chamber is, it
won’t be easy getting Lhors and the rangers in good position. Still…” He was
quiet for another long moment, then sat back on his heels and began to talk
quickly and quietly, outlining his plan.

Only Florimund objected. “This is not the way,” he whispered
fretfully. “I have been here, and the chamber beyond this one—” He shuddered
then broke into tears.

Nemis hastily spoke one of his silence spells, and Khlened
turned away, embarrassed. Maera glared at the Fist’s back, then gathered the
half-elf close, speaking quietly against his ear. Rowan watched them both, her
face expressionless. Finally, she came over to squat next to Vlandar and Nemis,
her eyes moving from one face to the other.

“How certain are you of the way, mage?” she asked softly.
Nemis stiffened, but Rowan laid a hand on his forearm and shook her head. “No, I
mean no insult. I must know if you are truly sure of our way.”

The mage nodded, but his eyes were still angry. “You were
there when we found the map. Do you think I am a spy?”

Rowan shook her head firmly.

“I am not,” he said, and Lhors thought he looked much less
angry. “Perhaps you will trust no oath of mine. Believe this, if you can. I am
fond of my life such as it is, but I will never again serve the dark elves, even
if it costs me my life.”

Rowan gazed into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “I
believe you.” She sent her eyes back toward her sister, who was trying to get
Florimund to his feet. The male clung to her weakly. “This is not easy for me,”
she said reluctantly. “Maera does not trust non-elves very much, as you must
know by now. I am not so certain as she that he is cousin, and I am less…”
She gazed blankly at the wall, then met the paladins sympathetic eyes. “I do not
trust him, but she does. I pray you keep an eye to Florimund, sir.”

Malowan gripped her fingers. “I will. Indeed, I have since he
makes me…
uneasy,
let us say.”

Rowan inclined her head and got to her feet. She went over to
help her sister with Florimund, and Maera managed a faint smile at whatever
Rowan said. Florimund seemed to get hold of himself, enough that Rowan left the
injured half-elf in her sister’s care so she could crouch herself at Lhors’
side.

“Caution, my young friend,” she murmured. “You and I will
have a hard role to play here. Mind you don’t let me down!”

“I—” He gaped at her. “But Rowan, I would…” He leaned
back, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It’s another of your jokes, isn’t it?
So I don’t get too scared to help?”

“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “I’d do the same for Maera
or Malowan—or even Vlandar. Relaxed and ready, that’s what’s best for you.”

Vlandar gestured
ready,
and Nemis eased around him.
Agya caught at his sleeve. “No wolves?” she whispered.

He smiled faintly and shook his head.

Malowan pressed past her, a gesture reminding her to stick
close to Maera. Bleryn and Khlened followed paladin and mage, all hugging the
south wall.

Lhors swallowed hard as he got his first look at the entry
guard: a brute of a giant with some sort of patch—possibly a captain’s
rank—roughly slapped onto his fur jacket. The fellow had a good view of the
corridor all the way up to the narrows, but at the moment he’d turned away and
was shouting something at another somewhere deep in the chamber. By the sound of
the other voice, it must be a giant with too little sleep, too much ale, too
many years, or altogether too few brains. Possibly all of them at once. The
captain swore an oath that set the corridor ringing and turned back to his post.

Too late. Khlened and Bleryn were already in place, and while
the dwarf brought his axe down across the brute’s calf, Khlened launched the
blood-darkened morning star at the monster’s neck. It sank into the mail coif
around the fellow’s neck, tangling in it. The giant swore savagely as he fell,
dropping his pike so that he could use both hands to free the weapon. Khlened
caught up the pike, staggered back under its weight, and then ran forward to
plunge the sharp end deep into the captain’s throat. Blood arced across the
chamber, and in two heartbeats the giant was quite dead.

Vlandar shoved past the barbarian as two other giants came
running up. One was a graybeard who came from Nemis’ marked post in the south
end of the cavern. He settled into place, blocking an ill-lit greenish passage,
The other stood with his back to the shining black rock ledge, brandishing a
manic grin and two long swords.

“
Ynk-knecht
—Ogre-Gutter,” Khlened said. He’d stopped cold
at sight of the giant and his weapons. Lhors shuddered, but the barbarian was
smiling happily, his eyes dreamy. “Look at ’em,” he sighed. “Kord ’imself would
risk all for a blade like that!”

“The god Kord is mad,” Bleryn said flatly. “Do I have to
watch yer back so’s ya can steal that monster’s blades? If so—well, I’m not
that wild to die, Fist!”