Giants (22 page)

In the morning, it was torture to move. His muscles screamed, and his eyes felt like gravel pits. He rolled his mat, ran his fingers through his hair, and splashed water on his face.

“Go take a swim,” Herrek suggested. The warrior sat nearby, having his face tended to. Amery, a young girl, ministered to Herrek. Amery was Herrek’s niece, being Jeremoth’s daughter.

Joash bathed along with a few other runners.

“Is it true you’re a groom now?” a runner asked.

“Yes,” Joash said.

Joash held his breath and ducked underwater. It felt good, and it woke him up. He surfaced, scooped sand from the bottom, and scrubbed his skin until it was red. It would be nice to use soap, but he didn’t have any in his kit, and he didn’t feel like asking anyone else to use theirs. They’d start asking him questions, and he wasn’t ready to answer or fabricate a tale. Adah had told him to keep quiet about what had happened. For the time being, only Lord Uriah and Zillith would be told the truth.

He scrubbed his clothes and went to a fire.

“How are you feeling?” asked Gens, his eyes red.

“Tired,” Joash mumbled.

Shaggy-bearded Karim, wearing chainmail, sat down by the fire. “So you’re a groom now, eh?”

“Yes, Warrior.”

“Herrek says he’s been teaching you to throw a spear,” Karim said.

“He has,” Joash said, grimly recalling the night training.

Thick Othniel sat down, and his son Beker sat beside him. “You look tired. Drink some tea.” Othniel nodded to his son. Beker poured tea into a tin cup and handed it to Joash.

“Thanks.” Joash sipped the scalding liquid.

Another runner turned sizzling sausages in a pan. “These are for you,” the runner told Joash.

Joash’s stomach rumbled. He was ravenous.

Othniel laughed. “I’m glad to see you alive.” He frowned. “Elidad, Brand, and Ard all died, I hear.”

Joash nodded.

“Was it the old sabertooth who killed Jeremoth?”

“Yes, Warrior,” Joash said, his eyes on the sizzling sausages.

“Herrek says he slew the terrible beast,” Karim said.

Joash nodded.

“Good,” Karim said gruffly. “And a good thing you didn’t meet up with any more giants.”

Joash nodded, aware that Karim shrewdly stared at him in the sudden silence.

“You really didn’t meet any more giants, eh?” Othniel asked as he scratched his face, studying Joash. “We came across many giant tracks.”

“Groom,” Herrek called. “Come get your new spear.”

“Save those sausages for me,” Joash told the runner, before he hurried to Herrek.

“Don’t let them squeeze the tale out of you,” Herrek whispered, handing him a spear.

Joash wrinkled his nose. The ointment on Herrek’s bandaged face smelled. He nodded, however, and accepted the new spear. He went back to the fire, finished his tea and devoured the sausages.

“By the looks of you, it must have been rough,” Othniel said.

Joash nodded with a full mouth.

Horns blared. Dogs barked. Lord Uriah’s standard-bearer lifted the Gyr Falcon banner. One by one, the charioteers climbed aboard their chariots. Like Herrek, however, a few of the charioteers were without vehicles. They would march in the company of the grooms and runners, and with the spearmen who made up Lord Uriah’s guard. The rest of the expedition was at the main camp. Joash learned from Beker that Captain Maharbal had arrived at the island off the coast. Yesterday, a small boat of Further Tarshmen had rowed to the beach. This morning, no doubt, herders would lead the steppe stallions aboard the barges brought expressly for that purpose. The herders would be working hard all day. Joash didn’t envy them, and for the first time he was in no hurry to return to camp.

Another horn blared. The signal came from the standard-bearer, a warrior who wore a two-lion emblem for bravery around his thick neck. Two chariots rattled ahead, runners and dogs racing behind them. They were the scouts. The rest of the chariots rolled at a horse-walking pace.

The rising sun glinted off the charioteers’ proud lance-heads, while from somewhere in the distance an orn screeched. The lake, with the sunlight slanting off it, was beautiful.

Joash was glad to be alive, even if his body ached. Herrek and Gens were in a chariot, having traded places with the lowest-ranked Teman Clan charioteer. Adah rode with Lord Uriah. Only he had to walk, but that was all right. Two big dogs kept him company, and Beker kept talking, trying to pry more of the tale out of him. Joash just shouldered his new spear, stared at the lake, and caught glimpses of jumping trout. He hoped Adah was all right. He also wondered how she’d treat him now that they were back with the others. She hadn’t met his glance this morning, and that troubled him.

“You
must
have seen more giants,” Beker was saying. “The tracks my father talked about were near the boulders where we found that old sabertooth’s carcass.”

“Huh?” Joash asked.

“I thought that would startle you.”

They moved to the left as dust rose from the chariot ahead of them.

Joash pondered Beker’s revelation as they traveled alongside the lake. The pace was sharp. In the distance dire wolves chased a herd of horses. A small colt struggled to keep up with the herd. The dire wolves closed in.

Joash’s mouth went dry. All the fine feelings of safety he’d been having fled. The wolves reminded him that the steppes were a dangerous place. Tarag, Mimir, and savage sabertooths were nearby, and by what Beker said apparently more giants. The Elonite expedition to Giant Land was anything but safe. Tarag had gone to great lengths to acquire adamant armor and weapons. Surely Tarag had reasons for doing so, and just as surely, he didn’t want anybody else knowing about it. Joash swallowed. They were
all
in danger.

Joash noticed that they weren’t headed toward the main camp at Hori Cove. He said as much to Beker, and Beker agreed.

Joash looked back and saw Amery. She was the girl who had tended Herrek’s wound. She was Lord Uriah’s runner. Just like him, she’d lost her parents. She was Jeremoth’s daughter. He wondered if she’d kicked Old Three-Paws’s carcass. He would have in her place. Amery had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and small bronze earrings. She was a smart runner and missed little. Joash knew Lord Uriah was fond of her, and he’d listened to Amery say more than once that her great, great, great grandfather would someday find her a prince to marry. He also knew that Amery liked him.

Joash steered himself beside her. “Are we returning to the main camp?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?” asked Joash.

Amery smiled. “I’ll trade you a secret for a secret.”

Joash became thoughtful.

“I’ll tell you where we’re headed, if you tell me who really slew your horses and smashed your chariots.”

Joash eyed her.

“Nothing for nothing,” she said.

He knew Amery could keep a secret, and he knew she eavesdropped a lot on Lord Uriah. She reminded him of a sharp-eared fox. Even her smile had a hint of mischievousness.

“Sorry,” Joash said. He didn’t need her to tell him anymore. They were headed toward the next good beach. That was obvious now that he thought about it. Giant Land’s coast was rocky, with only a few good places to land ships. Maybe because of Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths Lord Uriah had decided to use another route to the ships. The Patriarch could be sly that way.

Amery grinned. “That you won’t say means sabertooths didn’t kill the horses and smash the chariots. Since more giant tracks have been seen, I bet giants did the destroying.”

Joash gaped at her for only a moment. Then he shrugged.

Amery gave him an impish grin.

Joash scowled and walked faster. She was quick, that Amery. He was troubled, however. Lord Uriah wished to leave Giant Land from a new beach. That he took such a precaution meant that the Patriarch was worried, and that worried Joash. But Lord Uriah should be worried. Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths were near, and maybe even more giants. What would happen once Tarag learned his sabertooths hadn’t killed them?

Joash wanted to run all the way to the beach. The sooner they left Giant Land, the better.

“Joash!”

The standard-bearer shouted. The thick-necked warrior pointed at Lord Uriah’s chariot. Adah was no longer in it but rode with Herrek and Gens. Joash ran and climbed aboard Lord Uriah’s chariot. It was just the two of them.

Lord Uriah nodded.

Joash gulped and nodded back. Lord Uriah had such wise seeming and cunning eyes. The Patriarch of Elon wore gleaming chainmail and had a long slender sword belted at his side. He drove his chariot-team with skill and ease. His white beard and mustache were well groomed, and sprinkled with rosewater. Still, there was an odor of ale about the chariot. Joash noticed a corked ale-skin hanging from a peg.

“I’ve heard of your deeds,” Lord Uriah said. “You did well in the cave.”

Joash blushed, but a part of him noticed that Lord Uriah’s breath smelled like ale.

“Know, young one, that it pleases me to see you again.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Lord Uriah drove in silence. “I do what I do in order to make the world a safer place for those whom I care about.”

Joash listened, but was bewildered as to why he was being told this.

“Look at Amery.”

Joash did. She petted one of the dogs as Eber talked to her. Joash knew Eber was crazy about her.

“She is of my blood.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Her father was slain by Old Three-Paws, her mother killed by raiding Shurites. Now
I
protect her, thus I keep her at my side. Unfortunately there are many like Amery, many of mine who have been hurt, or will be hurt. Yet there are more terrible things out there, Joash, than mere beasts or raiders. There are beings that plan great evil. These beings must be stopped. Otherwise the world will suffer even worse pain. And then, my kin shall know even greater sorrow and suffering. That I would stop, if I can.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Because of that, I sometimes send grooms into frightful danger. Because of that, young men sometimes have to grow up quickly.”

Joash’s chest felt hollow. What was Lord Uriah saying?

“Our world can be a harsh place, Joash. Once, however, it was harsher still. Shining Ones were sent to help humanity. Now we must help ourselves overcome the legacy of that time.”

Lord Uriah uncorked his ale-skin and took a swallow. He offered some to Joash, but he declined.

“You are gifted in ways that you don’t yet understand,” Lord Uriah said. “And you have been severely tested these last few days. I am glad you passed the tests.” Lord Uriah studied him. There seemed to be pain in his eyes. “Because of who I am I make many difficult decisions. Thank you for keeping a little more blood off my hands. I cannot apologize for where you were sent, but I can rejoice in your return.” Lord Uriah put a hand on Joash’s shoulder.

Joash didn’t know what to think. But he dared ask, “Lord, do you think Tarag will try to stop us from leaving Giant Land?”

“Yes. But let us see if we can outfox him at least one more time.”

Afterward, Joash found himself walking again. That had been a strange talk. He wondered where Mimir was, and how quickly the giant and First Born would learn the sabertooths hadn’t slain them. He hoped Tarag wouldn’t learn until he was safely aboard ship.

***

Mimir ran his big thumb along his axe. A spot of blood spurted. His Bolverk-forged weapon was sharp and ready for the grim work ahead. Behind him were his brethren, towering giants who had met them since they’d left Draugr’s Crypt.

To his right, Tarag gathered his sabertooths. The massive First Born wore the adamant mail and helmet, and he readied his adamant shield and sword.

Tarag and he, after a grueling march from the crypt, had come upon the manslayers, Tarag’s special sabertooths. Each was a vicious beast, each as big as Old Three-Paws. From cub-hood to maturity Tarag had trained these sabertooths. They obeyed him with precision, and they fawned upon him in a way that puzzled Mimir. Perhaps only in the company of such beasts did Tarag have a sense of belonging. Mimir had noticed that while Tarag freely sent untrained sabertooths to their doom in order to further his plans, the manslayers were used only when the odds favored a quick victory. Whether the First Born did this out of love for his brethren, or out of cold calculation to keep his own elect troop intact, Mimir hadn’t yet decided.

In any regard, Tarag had been surrounded by his manslayers when they came upon the giants at the cedar-topped hill. Ygg the Terrible would have dared to march to Draugr’s Crypt, but Tarag had declined his offer. None of the other giants had offered to join the quest but had awaited the outcome. Among the giants, Ygg was the only necromancer. The others practiced their
gift
when the need arose. Otherwise, they refrained from magic. Like Mimir, they relied on their powerful limbs, their Bolverk-forged swords, spears, and axes, and their unmatched valor.

The giants wore horned or nasal-guarded helmets, heavy scale-mail shirts that hung down to their knees, and leather leggings, which like their shoes, had been reinforced with iron plates. The legendary Bolverk, the mastersmith of the giants, had forged each piece of armor, each weapon.