The Chalk Giants (29 page)

The land to which they came was the strangest they had seen. For mile after mile, the little hills were coated with hectic green. The grass grew limp and brilliant, the stems pulpy, the leaf blades a handspan broad. Crowning the hills were trees of proportionate vastness. Their shapes were bizarre. Some flung their branches straight as spearshafts, a hundred feet and more into the sky; others writhed and twisted, springing in great knots and curves, thrusting out fists of root wherever they touched the ground. The horses shied and snorted; and the Rat looked concerned. ‘I think,’ she said, *we should go east again, my Lord. This is bad land too; the winds from the Black Rock make these things happen. I have heard it said that men grow monstrous too.’

But Rand shook his head. ‘We will go south till nightfall,’ he said. ‘If the taint is in the air as you believe, then we have breathed enough already. We shall take no greater harm.’

Toward evening Matt, who had quietened, began to sing and shout once more. His bawling floated into the sky, among the appalling trunks and limbs; and the Dancing Man pulled at his lip. ‘I wish the Gods would take him,’ he said frankly. ‘At least he would be at rest; here it seems he lives in Hell.’

The sun dropped toward the horizon. They topped a hill and bunched, instinctively. Facing them across the intervening slope was the strangest monster of all that strange land. Its limbs, bone white and stripped, raged and squirmed for yard after yard, stooping to brush the grass, flinging out roots thicker than the body of a man. The light struck through the sea of branches, luridly; and Elgro jerked a hand from beneath his cloak, fingers circled in the sign that wards off death. They sat the horses, staring; and a voice beside them made them leap with shock.

It was Matt. He stood swaying wildly, his face suffused. ‘Behold,’ he said. ‘I see the World Tree, that stands at the end of Time. Under its roots the sea-Orms sit, and the Wolf that will eat the sun; and there are the Gods all in a row, with their eyes on fire and their pricks like a greatship’s truss. Can you not see them?’

Rat cringed, hands to her mouth; and the others turned, climbing quietly from their horses. ‘Matt, old friend,’ said Elgro gently, ‘we will let these matters be. We will sit down now, and eat; for these Gods, whom I see very clearly, are tired and do not want to chatter. In the morning, you can talk to them; meanwhile tell me about the Great Storm again, when we rowed King Cedda to Blue Fen and saw the water snake. That is a better tale.’ He nodded to Rand; and they leaped.

The other hunched his shoulders with surprising speed, and thrust out his arms. He had always been noted for his strength; now it seemed redoubled. Rand, for all his bulk, was hurled across the grass; Elgro rolled cursing between the horses’ feet. He was up in an instant, but the Navigator was quicker; he cried out, raising his arms, set off toward the monster calling at the top of his voice. They fled after him, appalled.

The branches were overhead, swooping and curving. Matt howled at the trunk, beating his fists. They reached him, and were flung away again. Red marks appeared before him, on the blenched white wood; then he fell, arcing his body. They grabbed him, hauled him back somehow the way they had come. They laid him on the grass, prized at the locked jaws; but it was too late. His tongue was in his throat, and he was dead.

Rand straightened slowly. ‘We will put him back in the harness,’ he said. ‘We will not leave him here; his ghost would never rest.’

They walked the horses silently, circling well clear of the great tree. In the last of the light, the girl reined. Beneath the pony’s hooves was normal grass; they had passed the Forest.

Next day the sun was hidden. Cloud masses drove low overhead; it seemed they trapped the heat close to the earth, so that they sweated as they rode. Thunder shook and muttered, but no rain fell. Toward evening they reached the edge of a great plain. It soared away in the dull light, its ridges crowned by wind-smoothed crests of trees. To right and left tall posts were planted in the grass. They rode to the nearest. Plumes of dark hair moved in the rising wind; topping the thing was a great bleached skull. Lightning flickered, above the clouds; and Rand turned. ‘This is the place they spoke of,’ he said. ‘The edge of the Horse Warriors’ land.’ He walked his mount forward, into the emptiness.

The storm broke toward nightfall. Rain fell in torrents; the blazing and din were continuous. They were far from shelter; they plodded grimly, cloaks flapping, hair and leggings streaming. An hour after dark they reached a village, huddled in a fold of downs. It was a poor enough looking place; but fires were burning here and there, there was a watchtower of sorts. They rode to the stockade, too weary for caution. Their hammerings finally produced a response. Questions were shouted, and answered; the gates creaked back. It seemed the Dragon’s name carried some force, even in the south.

The huts were miserable affairs for the most part, mere holes scraped in the ground and thatched with reed. In one they were lodged, and Rat saw to the stabling of the horses. They lay restlessly, huddled in damp cloaks, while the storm grumbled into silence. Rand dozed eventually, only to be visited by monstrous dreams. It seemed the Orm-child floated to him, time and again, holding out her white arms. He lifted his own arms to her; and the whiteness changed on the instant to another thing, that woke him shaking in the first light of dawn.

He rose, stood swaying. Her breasts rose and fell in the dimness; the lashes brushed her cheeks. She slept quietly, as though her ghost had made no journeyings. Beside her, the Dancing Man’s face looked pale and drawn as a corpse. He left the hut, walked to the southern stockade. Hills showed on the horizon; the air was cold, and sweet.

Later they took counsel with the headman of the place; a grey-headed, embittered old creature, frail and much bent. ‘The horses we will keep,’ he said. ‘Also their packs, to pay the trouble we have been to. The Horsemen do not like strangers in their country; heads have rolled, and villages been burned, for less than we have done. If you go south, and I say you are mad to think of it, you must go as slaves; for we are all slaves here. The Horsemen own the land.’

Rand said slowly, ‘What do you know of their Gods?’

The other spat. ‘Gods they have in plenty,’ he said. ‘Some ask for grain, and so they steal our crops. Others call for blood, and then they take our children. There is a great God in the south, or so I hear. His Priestess came of our people; but so holy was she that they let her be. And once she visited the Land of Ghosts, wandering there some time.’

Rand gripped his shoulder. ‘Chief,’ he said, ‘is this the truth?’

The other shrugged tiredly. ‘What should I know of truth?’ he said. ‘Once we were free, to farm our grain and feed our flocks in the valleys. Now we are slaves, and kiss the ground if a Horseman happens by. These are truths. If there are Gods, they have no thought for us. More than this I neither know nor care.’

Clothes were found for them; trews and coarse tunics of unbleached cloth. ‘Now, surely, your heart’s desire is achieved,’ said Elgro grimly to the King. ‘Lands you had, and they are gone. A Tower, that you left behind; a ship, and men to follow you. A ransom was in our saddlebags; and that we paid to lodge a night in a wet hole in the earth. Now we must bend our necks, wear cloth that stinks of farmers’ sweat. If this is wisdom, then the world is on its head; and time enough for me to leave it’ He stared at his swordbelt lovingly, laid it aside. He hung the weapon from a lanyard round his neck, arranging the folds of his cloak to hide the blade. ‘Some dirt on our faces would not I suppose come amiss,’ he said. ‘And while the thought is on me, my nose tells me there are pigs herded close by. I think I will go and roll in one of their sties; if I am to play a part, I must play it well.’

They left the village, tramping along a stony white road. A final slope took the place from sight. At the crest the girl turned, tears shining on her face. Rand, approaching awkwardly, laid a hand on her shoulder. He said, ‘What is it?’

She pulled away, brushing her lashes with the back of her knuckles. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s only for my pony. They can’t sell him; it would be dangerous.’

He frowned. He said, ‘What will they do?’

She shrugged. ‘Kill him and eat him, I suppose,’ she said. ‘My Lord, we must go on.’

The land was populous. They passed lines of ox carts, file after file of the dark-faced, steel-capped soldiers. Here and there were ramshackle villages like the one in which they had lodged, and chequer-patterns of small square fields. Between them, palisaded towns clustered beneath Towers not unlike the castles of Sealand. Suspicious looks were cast at them a score of times; but they passed unmolested. In time the villages became less frequent. The road climbed and climbed again, crossing the great chalk backbone of the country. Hills reared in the emptiness, topped by the gaunt shapes of beacons; farmhouses huddled in the valleys, cattle no bigger than toys cropped the sparse grey grass. At one such place they bargained for their supper, paying with the last of the gold from Rand’s belt. They slept the night in a rustling, hay-filled barn. In the morning a troop of soldiers passed, in charge of a dozen heavily loaded carts. Behind the tailboard of the last staggered four or five weary-looking men. Rand, frowning, saw one of the prisoners fall. The cart rumbled on indifferently, towing him in the dust.

They were nearing the sea. They entered an area of heath-land, a flat, sour expanse laced by little watercourses, splashed with bogs. Pine trees rose in clumps above the endless rhododendron thickets. Across the horizon ran a curving line of hills; closer, chalk headlands showed eroded rivers of white. They left the road, striking directly across the heath.

The sun climbed, gathering intensity; the bracken shimmered and swam. They rested through the heat of the day, crawling into the heart of one of the bright-flowered clumps. Toward evening they moved off once more, striking the road again where it swung back toward the hills. Along it they plodded, thirsty and footsore, till the girl stopped, gripping Rand’s arm. Beside the road lay the body of a man, one of the prisoners they had seen pass. A gaping wound showed in his back; round him the magpies were working already, scolding and flapping on the stained grass. They passed the spot grim-faced, and hurried on.

The sun was levelling when the Dancing Man turned. He narrowed his eyes, staring back the way they had come. Along the road behind them galloped a troop of men. The pouring light struck sparks from harness and weapons, the riders’ bright steel caps.

To either side the heath stretched empty and flat; there was nowhere to run. They drew to one side, humbly, stood heads bowed for the column to pass. Instead, it reined; and the leader a strapping, hook-nosed man with flowing hair and beard, rode forward. ‘You, I think, are the people we seek,’ he said without preamble. ‘Which of you is the Sealand Lord?’

Rand shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you, sir,’ he said. ‘We came from the coast to the villages by the Great Plain, to sell sheep for our master. Now our task is finished, and we are on our way home. Please let us go on; for it is late already, we shall be beaten.’

A man rode forward from the column, smiling. He wore a gaily-patterned surcoat; and his long fair hair was carefully dressed and tied. *Well spoken, King of the Crab,’ he said. ‘But you must put aside your modesty this once. We are honest folk here in the south, and anxious to entertain you.’

The Dancing Man’s hand flew to his neck, but for once he was too slow; a swordtip was already pricking his throat. The Horseman spoke gutturally. He said, ‘Let your weapons fall.’

He did as he was bidden slowly, his grey eyes hard as stone. ‘Why, Dendril,’ he said, ‘this is a strange affair. In Lakeland I killed a Worm; it seems a lesser escaped me, to dress in fine clothes and speak ill of its betters.’

The Sealander swung from his horse, unconcerned. ‘When I raise me in my Tower of the Crab,’ he said, ‘with these my friends to help me, my dress will be finer yet. But you will not be there to see it.’ He stooped to retrieve the sword, and turned away. ‘Kill him,’ he said. ‘The others will give no trouble.’

Rand stepped forward quickly. ‘Hear me,’ he said. ‘We came in peace, with white cloths on our ship. We would have sailed to your great towns, bringing gifts; but our boat was wrecked, as our friend here can tell. We brought no harm; we came to worship your Gods, and learn wisdom from your priests.’

Dendril walked forward. ‘No harm?’ he said. ‘No harm? Then where is Cultrinn? Where is Egril? Where are Galbritt, and Ensor, and all the rest?’ He weighed the weapon in his hands, swung it viciously. The crosspiece, heavy and rough, caught Rand across the temples. Light burst, inside his head; when he could see again, he was staring at a horse’s feet. He made to rise; and the warrior spoke distantly. ‘On your knees to a Horseman, Sealander,’ he said. ‘Or I will cut your heels.’

He put a hand to his forehead. It came away red and wet. The Rat knelt by him, pressed a cloth to his face.

Elgro had crouched, eyes blazing; now he relaxed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘so much for Kings. When they fall, the time has come to seek new masters.’ He turned to the Horsemen, spreading his arms. ‘My Lords,’ he said, ‘you need have no concern for me. I have no wish to die before my time. Also, I have powers undreamed of. In my own land, I was a notable Magician.’

Dendril said narrowly, ‘Kill him.’

A sword was raised; but Elgro lifted a hand. ‘Wait,’ he said. He turned to the black-bearded leader. ‘Kill me and you make a great mistake,’ he said. ‘I could serve you well. When I dance men grow big with vigour, taking twenty maidens in a night, and still demanding more. Others pine and falter, developing great pains. My enemies sit down and groan, sending quickly for a priest. All this I bring about, by steps in the dust.’

Dendril said, ‘Do not trust him.’ But the leader frowned, eyes narrowed curiously. ‘I have heard of these Dancing Men,’ he said. ‘Let him show his skill.’ He stared at Elgro. ‘Dance a pain, pirate,’ he said. ‘Fling it from distance, and perhaps I will let you live. Fail, and you die this minute.’