Crown Thief (13 page)

  "Tried to talk." Saltlick sat heavily, cupped his chin in his hands. "Think now. Try more."

  Despite what I'd told Alvantes, it was hard to credit that the giants were really willing to sacrifice their lives over some loophole in their social order. Most absurd was the fact that to all intents and purposes, Saltlick was now their chieftain. Perhaps I was missing the subtleties of giant politics, but he'd certainly been ordained when we'd visited their enclave high in the Castoval's southernmost tip. Surely that counted for something? Could they really be so hidebound that only Moaradrid's miraculous return from the grave would release them?

  Either way, nothing I could contribute would help. I doubted the majority of the giants would even understand me. This was one Saltlick would have to work out alone.

  Looking round for a diversion, my eyes fell on a wagon approaching in the direction we'd come from. A man and woman a few years older than me and dressed in peasant garb sat together on the driver's seat, with two small children running along beside them. A great quantity of yellowed grass was piled in the rear.

  I hailed them as they drew close and the man replied with a wave. He drew the wagon up beside the road and walked towards us. Though he was dressed in the traditional plain white shirt and trousers of the local farmers, complete with ragged wide-brimmed hat, something in his manner told me he wasn't accustomed to poverty.

  "That's a new one, isn't it?" he called.

  It took me a moment to understand. "This is Saltlick," I said. "He's been away… travelling with me."

  "Ah. More sense than the rest then. My name's Huero." He offered me his hand.

  I shook. "Easie Damasco. And my travelling companion's Alvantes."

  Alvantes tipped a noncommittal nod to Huero.

  "Good to meet you," Huero said. "Any friend of the giants is a friend of ours. Not that they'd consider us friends, I don't suppose. Half the time they hardly know we're here."

  Behind, I could see his wife manoeuvring the wagon off the road, towards the centre of the congregated giants. In a flash of insight, I said, "You've been looking after them. Since the soldiers left."

  "We have." Huero pointed to a cluster of buildings near the river. "We owned that farm. We fled when the northerners came. Just in time, I'd suppose. When word had it they'd left, we came back to see. The rumours were true – except for the giants."

  "But just now, you came from the south," I pointed out.

  Huero nodded solemnly. "They didn't leave much of the farms here. We've been staying with family of my wife's, further down the river."

  "You lost your home? And you're still looking after the giants?"

  "It's a long story. But yes, we bring food every morning and evening. All the families try to help a little. Trouble is, we don't have much left for ourselves. If it weren't for the fact that they'll eat almost anything, either they or we would have starved by now. Although, it's as much a problem getting them to eat or drink at all. I think they only do it so as not to offend us."

  That sounded about right. In my experience, just as violence seemed anathema to the giants, so consideration and a sort of fundamental politeness came naturally to them. Now, it seemed, politeness was the only thing keeping them alive.

  "We'll keep it up so long as we can," added Huero. "They don't much care about the weather, that's something. But they can't last out here forever."

  Abruptly, both Huero and I looked up, as a great shadow loomed over us. Saltlick had approached almost silently. One glance at his face told me he'd followed the entire conversation. He squatted on his haunches, bringing himself closer to Huero's height. "Thank you," he said. "Friend to giants."

  He spoke with such solemnity that it was almost funny. Yet, for once, I found I couldn't laugh at him.

  Neither did Huero. "You're welcome," he said, emotion welling in his voice. "I wish we could do more."

  At that, Saltlick destroyed the moment with a grin so wide it threatened to dislocate his jaw. Then I really couldn't help but laugh. After a brief struggle, Huero followed my example. "Listen," he said, "it's going to be dark soon. Do you have anywhere to spend the night?"

  I glanced at Alvantes, who acknowledged me with a barely perceptible tilt of the head. "We don't," I said. "We'd be grateful for anything you can offer."

  "We'll find you something," he said. "In the meantime, I'd best help my wife with sharing out the food."

  Trying to force-feed depressed giants wasn't the most appealing task I could think of, but the opportunity to stretch cramped muscles definitely appealed. "Wait, I'll join you," I said, and walked with Huero up the hillside to where the woman – who he introduced as "My lovely wife, Dura" – was already doling out portions of dried grass. The two children – "Little Ray and Loqueisa" – were following behind with cups of water filled from a cask in the back of the wagon.

  I caught up my first bundle of grass, only for Dura to appear at my elbow. "Not so much," she said softly. "If you give that to one, another will go hungry."

  I went back to the wagon and replaced a few handfuls. The remaining amount seemed very meagre.

  I turned back, just in time for Dura to return from distributing her own portion. "Better," she said. "But still too much."

  She reached over, removed a couple more handfuls and returned them to the cart. What remained looked as if it would barely qualify as a giant's midmorning snack.

  "You might have to encourage them," she added.

  I glanced round to judge who had or hadn't been fed, and singled out a target, a giant somewhat smaller than his neighbours with alarming sprouts of orange hair protruding from his head. I sidled into his line of sight, held out my hands and said, "Here's your meal. It isn't much, I'm afraid. Maybe you should stop sitting on this miserable hillside and go home for a delicious nine-course dinner."

  I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or through me, but there was nothing in his expression to suggest he'd understood. I'd grown used to Saltlick and his ability to follow simple conversations. Though Moaradrid's men had presumably taught the other giants enough to follow basic orders, I doubted their education had extended much beyond "Stand there" and "Kill those people." "Food," I tried. "For you."

  I pushed my hands closer to his mouth. Another thing about my familiarity with Saltlick was that I'd forgotten how intimidating a giant could be. I didn't feel remotely comfortable with my fingers so near that alarming maw.

  Fortunately, he chose that point to catch up with the situation. Holding out his own cupped palms, he offered a shy smile of acknowledgment. I tipped the grass into his hands; he spilled it into his mouth, chewed twice and swallowed. Then he bobbed his head, which I took for a sort of "thank you."

  After that, I fed a half-dozen more giants. Every exchange went more or less the same way. Each time, just as Huero had said, I came away with the impression that they'd only accepted their food because it would have been rude not to. When I went back the last time, I found the wagon empty but for a few stray strands.

  "That's it," said Dura. "At least they've all had something."

  Huero wandered up and put his arm about her shoulders.

  "I don't get it," I said. "I'm sure Moaradrid told them to wait until he got back, maybe he even ordered them not to move, but I can't believe he'd have told them not to eat. It's like they really want to starve."

  "I think they seem more shocked than anything," replied Dura. "Don't you?"

  I thought about what I'd told Alvantes, about what the giants had been through. I recalled how traumatised Saltlick had been after our escape outside Muena Palaiya, the sight of him standing amidst tumbling rocks with the blood of Moaradrid's soldiers smeared across his knuckles – and then what I'd witnessed the giants do to the Castovalian troops at Moaradrid's command.

  Perhaps there was something deeper here than the issues of Moaradrid's absence and the loss of the giantstone. Could it be violence was so repellent to them that they'd sooner die here than go home with the memories of what they'd done? If so, I wondered if anything anyone said could change their minds.

  When we rejoined Saltlick, I could see that he'd come to similar conclusions. He looked sad and worn. Clearly, whatever thinking he'd done hadn't provided much in the way of new arguments to confront the old chief with.

  "Why don't you join us?" I said. "It's not like they won't still be here tomorrow."

  Too late, I realised my lack of tact. But Saltlick merely shook his head. "Stay with people."

  I patted his knee. "We'll see you in the morning, all right?"

  He offered me a weak smile.

  With Huero and his family upon the cart and Alvantes and I riding beside, we headed back up the road. A few minutes later, Huero drew in to one of the tiny, tumbledown riverside villages. Had I thought about it, I might have realised his offer of hospitality had been based more on kindness than practicality. Only when we stopped did I remember that he was practically homeless himself.

  The relative of his wife's Huero had mentioned turned out to be a brother – and he too had a wife, not to mention their four children and her elderly parents. If their farmhouse was large by the standards of the village, it was wholly inadequate for two families. Introductions were conducted on the doorstep; anything else would have risked suffocation for all concerned. Huero waited until the others had gone back in and then said sheepishly, "I'm afraid the barn is all we can offer. If we try to sleep any more inside, I fear the walls might collapse."

  "We'll be fine," I said. "If it weren't for you, we'd be up on the hillside with the giants."

  Huero grinned. "If nothing else they'd keep the wind off, eh? I'll see what I can do about food for you. Make yourselves as comfortable as you can."

  At least it was a sturdily built barn, half-filled with hay – much of it probably destined to be eaten by the giants in due time. Part of me marvelled at how low my standards for accommodation had sunk. Another part was simply glad to have somewhere soft to sit. I couldn't recall ever having spent so much time on horseback. I was growing more bow-legged with each passing day; if I kept this up, I feared it might become permanent.

  Circumstances seemed considerably better when Huero arrived with two steaming bowls of soup. It was mostly rice and vegetables, but there was a little chicken in there, which I suspected they could ill-afford to spare.

  Huero sat with us while we ate, and once we'd scraped our bowls clean, took them back to the house. When he returned, it was with a bottle in one hand and three wooden cups in the other.

  "Not for me," said Alvantes. "It's late." Without waiting for anyone to try to persuade him, he paced to the far side of the barn and started setting out his bedding.

  It was late, but unlike Alvantes I wasn't about to throw Huero's generosity in his face. When he handed me a brimming cup, I recognised it by scent as the notoriously potent local rice liquor. I took a tentative sip. Fire cascaded down my throat, turned my insides molten. I gasped. "That's good."

  "The best. I've been saving it for a special occasion. There haven't been so many pleasant ones lately."

  While Alvantes snored in the background, Huero and I swapped tales of recent events, and he filled in some of the gaps in my knowledge regarding the time Moaradrid had spent there. He spoke jovially, but I could tell it was mostly for my benefit. He skimmed particularly lightly over the loss of his farm and lands, and carefully avoided the subject of how long they could continue to stay with his wife's brother.

  Meanwhile, I finished my first glass of rice liquor, and then a second. By the third, I was used to the burning sensation, and even starting to enjoy it.

  "'S'agoodthing…" I took a breath, began again. "It's a good thing for the giants they had people like you nearby."

  "Yes." Huero looked meditative. "It might have gone very differently."

  An edge to his tone snagged a more sober part of my brain. "Is there something you didn't tell us?"

  "Yes," he said. "There's more." He paused – and the pause dragged on. Not knowing if I should prompt him, I chose to wait; and eventually he continued of his own accord. "We had a second son, Dura and I, older than Ray. His name was also Huero."

  Thinking back to my own experience, I asked, "Did Moaradrid force him to fight?"

  "No, no one forced him. The day of the battle, we got up to find his bed empty. He'd gone in the night to join up with
our
side."

  Understanding, I spoke so Huero wouldn't have to. "He never came back."

  "Not many did. As soon as the last soldiers left, we went to burn our dead. But we couldn't be sure which one was Huero. The ones the giants had killed… some of them were hard to recognise."

  "That doesn't sound like much of a reason to help keep them alive."

  Huero coughed into his fist. "I suppose it doesn't. The truth is, we'd planned to kill them – or try to, anyway. Everyone from all the villages went. But when the time came… the giants must have realised what was going on, but they didn't try to defend themselves. They didn't do anything at all."

  From what I'd seen of Huero and knowing the giants, I could imagine the scene as clearly as if I'd been there. "You couldn't do it."

  "How could we? And once we'd realised that, there seemed to be only one other choice." Huero lowered his head, brushed at his eyes. "Afterwards, we were relieved. We understood… it's much better this way."

  I couldn't think of a thing to say. My mind boggled at the kind of decency that could see the giants for what they really were after what they'd been made to do. Yet even through the fog of alcohol, I understood that Huero was right. Any other outcome would have destroyed him and his people forever.