The Giant Among Us (24 page)

The remorhaz roared and sprang sideways, trying to leap away from its tormentor. Avner grabbed one of its bulbous knees and held tight, and when the beast landed, the youth was still beneath it. He slipped one of the open shackles around the worm’s leg, closing the cuff above the creature’s round ankle.

The remorhaz thrust its head under its belly, jaws snapping and face tendrils flaying. The youth managed to whirl away from the beast’s needle-toothed maw, but its tentacles thrashed him several times. Scorching pains shot through his face and arms, and red welts rose wherever the tendrils touched. Avner continued to roll, jerking the worm’s shackled leg after him.

The remorhaz roared in pain and dropped to its side, slashing Avner with the legs along its other flank. The youth turned his head away from the slicing claws and blindly thrust an arm out, clamping onto one of the flailing legs. He tugged the limb toward him and clasped the second shackle above the ankle.

When the youth heard the lock click shut, he slipped between two slashing legs and scrambled away, leaving a trail of blood on the ice. He snatched up his spear and retreated to the nearest corner. Only then did he turn to inspect his work.

The remorhaz had righted itself, but the beast was far from the agile terror it had been earlier. On one side of its body, two of the legs Avner had hit with the irons hung limp and useless, so that the beast was creeping toward him with a severe list. More importantly, the two shackled legs bent inward at awkward angles, further reducing the worm’s mobility.

The youth did not make the mistake of thinking he had won the battle. With its serpentine neck and darting head, the remorhaz could still snatch Avner off the ice in the blink of an eye. And he was not foolish enough to believe that he had the strength to drive his little spear through the beast’s hard carapace.

As the creature hobbled toward him, Avner used the tip of his spear to chip a small hollow in the ice. During the few moments it took him to complete the task, he dripped enough blood on the floor to stain the whole area red. When he finished, he braced the butt of his weapon in the cup he had created and angled the tip toward the approaching remorhaz.

“Maybe this will hold you off,” he whispered, “at least until Tavis gets back.”

****

After several minutes of searching, Slagfid finally grabbed one of the beasts by the ear and started toward the shore. The rest of the herd seemed to forget about the danger they had sensed earlier and followed close behind, an eerie, mournful wail pouring from their upraised trunks.

Tavis pointed at the herd and asked, “What’s all this?”

“Good-byes,” the frost giant explained. “They think he’s being led to butcher.”

Tavis winced. “You slaughter their kin in front of them?”

Slagfid shook his head. “Of course not. But they see our clothes and smell the cook fires.” The frost giant led the mammoth over to Tavis. “Doesn’t take ‘em long to figure it out”

“And they don’t try to flee?”

“Some do.” A cruel smile crossed Slagfid’s mouth. “But when we catch ‘em, that’s when the herd sees a slaughter. We butcher the one that ran and its mother, calf, and siblings. After that, we usually don’t lose another one for twenty years.”

“Mammoths must be intelligent.”

“Smarter than hill giants, anyway,” Slagfid allowed. “And they remember faces a lot longer.”

The frost giant pulled on the mammoth’s ear, forcing it to present its flank to Tavis. The creature’s back came up only to the waist of Gavorial’s body, with a thick covering of coarse fur that would offer at least minimal padding.

The frost giant pressed the tip of his boot into the back of the beast’s knee. “Down, Graytusk.” Once the mammoth had kneeled before Tavis, Slagfid said, “Just climb on and grab an ear. He’ll turn the way you pull, and tug ‘em both when you want to stop.”

Tavis swung a leg over Graytusk’s back. The sensation reminded the firbolg of the few times he had climbed onto a horse’s back. It felt like he should be carrying his mount, not the other way around.

“How do I make him go?”

“When I take my foot off his leg, he’ll stand up and start moving,” Slagfid explained. He grinned shrewdly, then added, “At least for a little while.”

Tavis scowled. “What do you mean?”

The frost giant chuckled. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “But you tried to get me the honor for catching Little Dragon, so I figure I owe you something.”

“What?”

“Mammoths aren’t strong enough to haul grownups, it’s all they can do to carry a young giant,” Slagfid explained. “You’ll ride this fellow to death before you’re off the glacier.”

With that, the frost giant took his foot off Graytusk’s knee and stepped away. The mammoth pushed himself up, spewing a long snort from his hairy trunk and rocking so violently that Tavis nearly fell off. The beast instantly ambled forward with a lurching, uneven gait. The scout yanked on both ears, bringing the beast to a swift halt, and leaned over to speak with Slagfid.

“That’s why Hagamil kept the shaman’s promise!”

Slagfid nodded. “And that’s why Halflook made it in the first place,” the giant chortled. “You really don’t think the frost giants are going to share…”

Slagfid’s jaw fell open and he let his sentence trail off. He pinched his eyes closed, then opened them again and stared at Tavis with a bewildered expression. “Sharpnose, what’s happening to you?”

A cold numbness fell over the scout’s face, and his skin suddenly seemed as stiff and rigid as steel. His facial muscles began to twitch and snap. A loud, metallic ping echoed through his nasal cavities, then Basil’s runemask popped off and struck Slagfid squarely on the forehead. Tavis’s face erupted into searing pain. The bones of his jaw began to shrink, causing his teeth to grind against each other like stones. His entire head throbbed in agony.

“You’re not Sharpnose!” Slagfid gasped.

Tavis raised his foot and drove the heel into the frost giant’s midsection, then grabbed Graytusk’s ear and jerked the mammoth around. The beast broke into a shaky, bone-jarring trot. The scout’s throat started to shrink and he found himself choking on his own Adam’s apple, which was reducing its size only half as fast as the air passage around it. He guided his mount toward the place he had last seen the traell’s shadow, praying the fellow had not moved.

Slagfid’s voice commanded, “Graytusk, stand!”

The mammoth halted instantly. Tavis pitched forward, and only his secure grip on the beast’s ears prevented him from flying off. He craned his neck around to see Slagfid’s looming face just a few paces behind him. A distant ringing echoed in the scout’s ears, and black wisps of fog formed at the edges of his vision. He felt Graytusk’s back broadening beneath his legs, and he realized he was shrinking fast.

“You’re no stone giant,” Slagfid growled. “You’re just a scrawny little firbolg!”

The frost giant lowered a hand to pluck Tavis off the mammoth’s back. The scout pushed himself out of the way, then slid down Graytusk’s flank and dropped onto the snow. He crawled under the beast’s belly and scrambled to his feet on the other side, dizzy and still choking.

Slagfid shoved the mammoth out of his way. “You’re Tavis Burdun!”

Tavis stumbled forward. The black fog closed in, reducing his vision to a narrow tunnel. He tried to cry out for his bow, but could not choke the words out of his constricted throat. The ice trembled and crunched as Slagfid kneeled behind him.

“Catching you alive will bring me more honor than Hagamil!”

Tavis felt the giant’s fingers close around him, and his vision went dark. A scream of fury erupted deep inside the firbolg. It rose as high as the choking lump in his throat and remained there, simmering. The scout grabbed one of Slagfid’s fingers and pushed against the joint, determined to break the digit before he fell unconscious.

Tavis never had the chance. An arrow sizzled past several feet over his head, then sank into Slagfid’s eye with a mucky hiss. A pained bellow boomed over the ice, and the giant’s hand opened, spilling Tavis onto the ground.

Somewhere ahead, an old man’s voice yelled, “Basiliz wives!”

Tavis staggered toward the voice as fast as his growing dizziness allowed. Behind him, Slagfid scrambled to his feet, roaring, and stomped off toward the cavern.

“Basiliz wives!” the voice repeated, this time more urgentiy.

It occurred to the scout that his savior was attempting to activate one of Basil’s runearrows, but the fellow had such a traell accent that his words were hardly comprehensible. Tavis tried to give the command, but still could not speak. He dropped to his knees. He heard several humans rush up to him, then felt their hands grasping his arms.

“What wrong, Dafis?” asked an old man’s voice. “Hurt bad?”

The scout shook his head. He could still hear Slagfid’s steps pounding toward the ice cavern, but the giant’s bellows had changed to an alarm cry. Tavis could do nothing to silence him, at least not until he changed back to a firbolg. The few moments the transformation required seemed to pass at an interminable pace. Once the frost giant alerted his fellows to the presence of Tavis Burdun, the traells would not have much time to escape-and the scout would have even less time to rescue Avner.

When the scout’s throat finally cleared and his vision returned to normal, he saw that his rescuers were the same dark-haired traells that had lured Bodvar into the ambush. Neither the young girl nor the man Tavis had inadvertently wounded were present, but he recognized the child’s features in the face of the old man and one other warrior.

The scout quickly turned toward the ice cavern and saw that Slagfid had already disappeared inside. Tavis did not speak the runearrow’s command word. Even if his voice would carry that far, it was already too late to stop the giant from sounding the alarm. It would be far wiser to reserve the magic until later, when he could see what results the explosion might bring.

“Here, Dafis.” The old man thrust the scout’s quiver and bow into his hands. “My name Olchak. Afner say give these to you.”

“Thank you,” the scout replied. “I’m grateful for your help against the giant.”

“Frost giants!” Olchak spat into the snow. “Dey should stay in Ice Plains, where dey belong!”

“Perhaps we can send them back,” Tavis said, looking toward the ice cave. “Will you help me, Olchak?”

“Dat why we came,” the old man replied. “What you want?”

Tavis checked the supply of arrows remaining in his quiver-three runearrows, several dozen normal arrows, and, of course, the golden shaft reserved for Brianna. He started toward Graytusk, speaking as he moved.

“See if you can find some frost giant rope.” The scout was still limping, for the transformation had done nothing to mend his wounded toe. “And if you can, take it to the cave entrance. Here’s what I want you to do.”

*****

The remorhaz struck at Avner yet again. The youth angled his spear toward the worm’s descending head. As it had many times before, the beast stopped short of impaling itself. But this time, it twined a face tentacle around the shaft and yanked.

Avner held firm, rising off the ice as the beast tried to jerk the spear from his hands. The youth circled the end of his weapon over the tentacle, then flicked the tip down. The steel head severed the tendril. The worm bellowed in pain and, madly shaking its head, retreated.

The frost giants roared their approval.

Avner flicked the tendril away and started forward to press his advantage. Then he remembered Tavis’s ambiguous warning about the beast’s back and decided to wait. The youth retreated to his bloody corner and braced the butt of his weapon in its cup.

A disappointed murmur rustled through the cavern. Avner did not care. He was fighting for his life, not the amusement of the frost giants.

The remorhaz flapped its head, spraying droplets of sizzling blood across the ice. The beast cautiously advanced again. It had just closed to striking range when Slagfid’s voice rumbled over the pit like thunder.

“Help!” His voice was so pained that it was barely intelligible. “My eye!”

The crowd on the pit rim slowly parted, then Slagfid’s head came into view. The giant held one hand cupped over his eye, with the dark fletching of one of Tavis’s runearrows protruding between his fingers. A stream of blood was flowing down his cheek and pouring off his jaw in a bright red cascade.

“What happened?” demanded Hagamil.

Slagfid’s only reply was an incoherent wail.

Avner did not have time to watch what happened next, for the remorhaz was approaching again. This time, the worm scuttled toward him sideways. It held its head low to the ground, while, twenty feet away, its tail twitched high the air.

The youth saw at once that the beast had at last hit upon a strategy to defeat him. If he lowered the spear to defend against the head, the remorhaz would lash out with its tail and batter him senseless in a single blow. If he kept his weapon high, the worm would grab him by the ankles.

There was only one thing left to do.

Avner hurled his spear at the remorhaz’s eye. The worm jerked its mouth up and snatched the weapon out of the air. The beast snapped the shaft in two with a single chomp, but the maneuver bought the youth enough time to dart out of the corner.

The creature whirled around and hobbled after him, still crippled by its shackles and broken legs. The youth stopped in the center of the pit, where he would have plenty of room to keep dodging. Eventually, he knew, the remorhaz would wear him down, but his deftness was the only weapon Avner had left.

The second time Tavis stepped through the cavern mouth, the ice cave felt immeasurably vast. The icicles that had appeared to hang so low to a stone giant now looked as high as stars, and the far wall seemed a distant blue horizon.

The air reverberated with the booming voices of astonished giants, dozens at once yelling at Slagfid, calling him a fool and shouting questions. The warrior was in too much pain to provide the explanations they demanded. He seemed unable to do anything except bellow in agony and keep his hands clutched over his eye. As a result, the entire tribe’s attention remained fixed on him.