Against the Giants (8 page)

Vlandar smiled. “They can be arrogant and touchy, but they
are excellent fighters.”

At Vlandar’s gesture, the barbarian strode over to the table
and said, “I am Khlened.” His voice was deep, rough, and carried an accent that
Lhors had never heard. “I’m seeking one named Vlandar. I hear he wants men to
fight giants.”

Lhors edged over to settle on his bunk as the massive
barbarian sat on the nearby bench. As Vlandar went over their mission, the
newcomer sat and listened quietly, now and again eyeing the youth perched on his
narrow cot.

“Well, then,” he said after Vlandar had finished. “I’m good
in a fight—good even among my own people.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Vlandar said mildly, “but we also need
men who can follow orders.”

Khlened’s eyes narrowed. “You saying I can’t?”

“No. I’m saying I’ve fought alongside northerners before.
Where we’re going, we’ll have one person in charge, and that will be me. The
strongest and bravest warriors no good to me if he ignores my orders or sets his
own course. We’re a small company. With you, we’ll have eight so far. That means
we all get along. No feuds or wounded feelings, and we share everything.”

The barbarian huffed and pushed partway to his feet, but then
he hesitated and finally bared his teeth in a wild grin. He dropped back to the
bench, rattling Lhors.

“All right, Vlandar. There’s sense in that. You have my word.
Who else goes?”

The warrior turned down fingers as he went. “Myself, a
paladin called Malowan, a young thief who’s his ward, two rangers, a mage named
Nemis, and you.”

Khlened glanced at Lhors. “That’s seven. What of the lad,
here?”

Lhors shook his head. His skin felt suddenly cold. “I’m not mean—”

“The village was his,” Vlandar replied and gazed thoughtfully
at Lhors. “It’s his choice, if he wants to come with us.”

Lhors’ eyes went wide. “I… but Vlandar, I can’t. I
mean, I’m no fighter!”

Vlandar held up a hand. “I think you can. Your father began
your training, Lhors. I’ve watched you these past days. You have skills that
would be useful. You know your limits, you can follow orders, and you listen.
We’ll be a small party, and we could use someone who won’t be worn out from
constant travel, someone who can serve as extra eyes and ears and hands.”

Lhors had never considered this. Since coming to Cryllor, he
had expected to be on his way after requesting the lord’s help. He had never
dreamed of being asked to help against the giants. He had Gran to think of…
but he knew that was a false excuse. As a village wisewoman, she wouldn’t lack
for care.

He had no family to which he could return. He thought of his
father and remembered the aging soldier impaled upon a giants spear. In his
mind, he saw his father’s life leaking away as the man lay in a pool of his own
blood. That faded but was replaced by the memory of screaming, terrified
children, too young and helpless to defend themselves. Lhors saw again Bregya’s
three year old as the giant took him and…

Something cold stirred inside Lhors. Again he saw the giants laughing as they
slaughtered women and children and burned his village to the ground. “I’ll go.”

Even the Fist barbarian looked taken aback at the sudden
change in the youths voice and the stern set of his gaze.

“Good lad,” replied Vlandar. “I’ll see to it the king’s
steward finds someone to return that horse and have him take word to the old
woman—Gran, was it? We’ll have to fit you up with weapons and armor of some
sort. Your father taught you to use javelins, right?”

Lhors nodded, afraid to trust his voice. The mention of his
father brought back memories that he could cherish later, but now he needed them
for other reasons. His fear was still there, but it had now been joined by
something else: rage and a sudden thirst for vengeance.

The preparations for departure took even longer than choosing
the company had. Lhors spent much of his daylight hours helping Malowan set up a
staging area in the stables. They acquired horses and pack animals, tack, packs,
and bags that could be fitted on saddles and racks. He and the paladin went over
the food and drink, which then went into bags that would be checked a final time
by Pferic, a stolid, middle-aged soldier who would serve them as horseman and
cook. Lord Mebree provided a small company to travel with them by horse as far
as Flen, where a flatboat was being readied to take them to Istivin.

“It’s our best choice,” Vlandar told the company on the
second evening when they all gathered. “From Cryllor to Flen is a reasonably
easy ride, two days without pushing the horses. The river Davish—”

“The river,” Rowan objected, “goes from its joining with the
Javan River due west, and the last time I saw it, Vlandar, it was a fast-moving
stream.”

“Then you saw it in the spring,” Vlandar replied. “This is
late autumn. Not only is the water low and not nearly as swift, but this time of
year the wind most often sets from east to west, flowing into the westernmost
corner of Sterich where the Crystalmist Mountains and the Jotens meet up. Lord
Mebree has ordered a flatboat for us with sails in case there is wind—and there
should be. The south bank and the lands beyond rapidly move into the Jotens
where the Steading is, but most of Sterich is flat and we will be able to see
far in three directions most of the time. I need not remind you that there will
be bandits, pirates, giants, and all manner of unpleasant folk watching the
Davish?”

“Pirates?” Nemis murmured and rose to his feet. “Your pardon,
Vlandar, but I fear I must decline this journey. You warned me of giants and
other monsters and horrors, but you said nothing about pirates!”

Lhors simply stared at the mage, astonished—as did several of
his companions. But this seemed to be Nemis’ idea of a joke. Malowan and
Vlandar broke into laughter, and the mage grinned. “That is well though,
Vlandar. Personally, I prefer a boat under my feet to a horse between my knees.
But what if there is no wind?”

Vlandar shrugged. “We pole. This time of year, the water will
be shallow and slow. It won’t be so bad.”

That evening was given over to readying for the chance that
they might become separated. Bread and other rations were divided up and put in
separate small packs that each of them would carry at all times. Individual tins
of flint and tinder were also stowed.

The next morning, Lhors went with Vlandar, who had him fitted
for thick trousers of brown boiled wool, a soft tunic to match, and a
knee-length cloak and hood of waterproofed wool that could also serve as a
blanket. The warrior then took him into the armory and acquired a leather
harness and case for javelins, then had it cut down so it fit snugly. Seven
short throwing javelins, each tipped with sharp steel, went into the case, which
could be covered over and tied down so that he wouldn’t lose the weapons if the
case tipped. To Lhors’ surprise, Vlandar also bought him two long-bladed
daggers, a sling, and a bag of hurling stones.

“The blades are for defense and only as a last resort. The
sling is as good at a distance as the javelins—possibly better since they work
at greater distance with less effort. Mal is better at the sling than I. I’ll
get him to show you.”

During those three days, Malowan and Vlandar also found the
time to track down people who knew the land near the Steading. They even found
one fellow who’d been taken prisoner by one of the hill giants but had managed
to escape. None of them had any desire to return no matter how great the reward,
but they talked freely and answered questions that Vlandar incorporated into his
precious maps. He now had four. The first was a general map of the lands of
southern Sterich and the Joten mountains. Another that he’d drawn himself was of
the Steading and the lands around it for two leagues. A third, even rougher,
showed the outside of the fortress-like building—what he’d been able to learn of
entries, guard towers, and the like. The last, mostly blank, was an outline of
the outer walls. Vlandar had roughly marked the location of the main entry and
the doors leading into the rest of the building. His only source of information
had escaped by hiding amid the cloaks and wrappings piled in the entry. With the
chaos of so many coming in at once, he’d been temporarily forgotten.

The first meeting of the full group—again, after dark, since
it gave the members of the company an opportunity to comb the market for things
they would need for the journey—was less pleasant than Lhors had expected.
Plowys returned, sullenly mouthing threats and trying to pick fights with
everyone, including Lhors.

Khlened finally picked him up by the collar and tossed him
into the night. Khlened himself was in an obnoxious mood, picking on everything
he saw as poorly planned. He seemed both fascinated and repelled by the rangers
and raised one objection after another over division of treasure. The rangers
exchanged annoyed glances whenever he turned away.

The two rangers also spent some time helping Vlandar and the
others in the company work out a rough series of hand-signs.

“Maera and I have our own,” Rowan explained, “but it’s
complex—”

“—and private,” Maera interrupted. She didn’t look at all
pleased, and Lhors wondered if they had quarreled about sharing their code.

Rowan glanced at her and moved her index finger and thumb
sharply.

Maera nodded and added, “Mostly, it’s complicated—a twin
thing.”

“But we think there might be times when it’s dangerous to
speak aloud,” Rowan went on, “and so if we all had a set of signs for such
things as ‘danger’, ‘monster’… Vlandar, you’re our captain, you’ll know
best what we need besides what Maera and I have worked out.”

“Well thought,” the warrior admitted. “We’ll have a little
more time here and some time on the road each night. I’ll think on it.”

* * *

The company rode out of the city at daybreak three days
later. Vlandar took the lead, and the others strung out behind him. Bringing up
the rear was a score of Lord Mebree’s best fighters and Pferic, who led two pack
animals while his assistant, Zyb, a freckled boy of perhaps fourteen years, led
the third.

For the most part, they rode in silence along the east bank
of the Javan River, with an occasional word from Vlandar on direction or stops.
The rangers had their own mode of silent communication and moved out ahead to
scout once they left the farmsteads and pastures behind. Khlened seemed to be
hung over or simply sulking about yet another imagined slight. Nemis’ lips
moved now and again—perhaps going over spells that might prove useful. Agya had
quarreled with the paladin over one of the last pranks she’d pulled in the lower
markets the night before they left. Though she now and again spoke to Vlandar,
she ignored Malowan. Lhors found himself riding most of the day next to the
paladin, who pointed out an occasional landmark along the broad, smooth-flowing
river that began high in the Barrier Peaks and ended in the Azure Sea.

There wasn’t much to see to the east and north but hills.
Although Lhors had never been quite this far north, every tree and bush seemed
to speak of home to him. It was all he could do not to turn and head south, but
a small, despondent voice in the back of his mind whispered,
but you have no
home now….

The desire for revenge that had seized him the other night
was still there, but it smoldered now, and he let it alone to do so. Better to
concentrate on the task at hand.

Not very far to the west, Lhors could make out the feet of
mountains, the Jotens. Somewhere among those peaks and valleys lay the Steading.
Lhors swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, then stood in the stirrups to take the
weight off his already stiff backside. Movement well to the rear caught his eye.
Lhors stared hard, but the figure was much too distant for him to tell much.

“Malowan? I think there’s someone following us.”

“Yes,” Mal said without looking back. “I saw him earlier.
Arkon the Adamant.” The paladin’s voice was dry, and the corners of his mouth
twitched.

Khlened, who was riding just ahead of them, reined in so they could catch up
to him. “Green whelp,” he growled. “Believe I’ll go back there and teach him the
meaning of
‘no’!
”

“Leave him be.” Vlandar had apparently been near enough to
catch the whole exchange. “He’s not worth the trouble. Save your horse for the
journey ahead. The boy will either grow up or he won’t. At this point, it’s his
choice.” He kneed his mount and went back to the head of the party.

Khlened moved back to where he’d been. Lhors could hear him
mumbling under his breath but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

They rode at a ground-devouring pace, though Pferic made
certain they took frequent stops to rest the horses and donkeys. Khlened
objected—mildly enough for him—but Vlandar backed the horseman. “We’ve at least
two days to reach Flen and our boat. We’re between two prosperous cities and on
a well-traveled river. This is still no place to be caught afoot. Others besides
honest travelers and king’s men frequent this way.”