Against the Giants

PROLOGUE

The morning of 14 Harvester dawned muggy and too warm in theremote Keoland hill village of Upper Haven. The newly risen sun cast a ruddy pall over a crossroad just beyond the last huts as Yerik, the sturdily built, gray-bearded village headman, emerged from the hut that he shared with his mother. They had shared the small dwelling ever since his father and young wife had died of fever twelve years earlier. His beloved Aleas had been heavy with their first child, and the grief over their loss had hit him so that he hadn’twed again, taking the village as his family instead.

So far, Upper Haven’s year had not been a good one. The youngbaron had died of fever the preceding winter, leaving no heir. Since his death, there had been none of the usual hunting parties through the area. Baron Hilgenbran, who had paid in silver for all supplies needed at his lodge-fromfowl and eggs for his table to wood for the enormous firepits-had been a sternbut fair ruler. Without him, there had not been the usual drain on Upper Haven’slimited resources, but there had been no coin either.

The village’s chickens hadn’t increased properly, thanks tothe icy winter that had hung on well through Readying, and spring had been unusually cold and wet, lasting well into planting season-in mourning for thebaron, some said. Whatever the cause, the grain hadn’t sprouted until nearlymid-Wealsun, and some of it was still underground at summer’s longest day. Bythis late date, the wheat and oats should have been threshed and stored in watertight clay jugs down in the communal root cellars where they would keep the winter.

Now, with the grain barely ripe, even the youngest farmer of Upper Haven could look at that ruddy eastern sky and predict heavy rain by nightfall.

“There’ll be lightning,” Yerik predicted gloomily, his eyesfixed on the ruddy sky where the sun would soon rise, “and fires down where wepasture the goats and horses. It was too wet all spring, and it’s been too drysince.”

His mother stepped on to the small porch just behind him, deftly working her long white hair into a thick plait. Gran seemingly had no other name-at least none that the villagers could remember. Old as she was, hermemory was astonishingly sharp. She nodded. “Like the year-was it almost fortyyears ago? — year 546, yes. A bad one, everything on-end. It was too wet allsummer, too dry in fall, and a poor harvest because of it. What grain there was rotted when rain fell before we could reap.” She fastened the plait with a bitof faded blue ribbon. “At least the rain put out the fires that year. And it’sour good fortune that you were clever enough to call on High Haven to come in and stay last night, should the grain be ready today.”

She glanced toward the low stable, usually empty this time of year since the herds grazed out all year except snow season. At the moment, the stable threshing floor was packed with High Haveners-twenty men from the uppervillage, who would exchange labor now for flour and fodder come winter. Fifteen young women who had come down from the mountain with them had taken over the common house for the night.

Yerik sighed heavily. “The grain will have to beready. We’ve no choice.”

“Yes. The crop is your business today, son. Remember that ifwe go hungry this winter, those who like placing blame will blame you. Worse still, we’ll lose Bregya, and she is a fine tanner.”

The headman nodded. “We’d also lose her father. Digos has notbeen well the entire year. A better b’lyka player we’ve never had.”

“True.” Gran flipped the braid over her shoulder and camedown the step to stand beside him. “Organize everyone able to help in some way.The herders are a sturdy lot. They’ll give you good time, and old Haesk and hisbrother can help keep watch over the babes. Get little Adisa to help Bregya tend her small ones. Take blankets so they can sit under the trees and weave us wreaths from the stems for good fortune. Make a game of it for the youngest. The children are useful at finding all the loose wheat-heads, if you plan it right.”

Yerik nodded and smiled.

Gran patted his arm. “Yes. I see you remember the game I madeof it, when you were a small boy. Leave me Mibya and her sister. I’ll need themto start pots of soup for everyone. We’ll eat together once the crop is safelyinside.”

“Good.” He rubbed his hoary beard and nodded. “That will freeup more of the women to help. The rain may hold off until middle night. It has that look. Still, we’ll get the crop in as quickly as we can. Remember Lharisand his son are out hunting. They should return with meat.”

“Should,” she agreed with a smile. “We won’t count on it,though.”

“No, but old Mikati swears he saw an entire herd of deer onthe northeast plain two days ago. You know Lharis. If there’s a herd anywherenear, he’ll bring in at least one.”

“I will count deer only when I can touch them,” Gran replied.“I’d welcome meat, but if not, we’ll manage. We always do.” She gazed at theeastern sky with visible misgivings. “I wish I liked the look of this morningbetter.”

“You”-he eyed her sidelong-“recall a day like this?”he asked tentatively, emphasizing the word that also meant accessing the oral village history passed down to her, mother to daughter, wisewoman to apprentice, for all the years Upper Haven had been a village.

She shrugged. “No. I’m merely worried. We know the weatherhas been erratic all year, and it will play us foul if it can. Go, shoo.”

Yerik nodded absently. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, and she doubted he’d heard her. “Do you see an omen?” he whispered.

“None of that!” she hissed. “They’ll not take it well-ourpeople or the highlanders-to hear you say ‘omen’! Keep everyone busy asyou can. The other women and I will bring midday food to you. Why”-she laughedsoftly-“we’ll make a picnic of it, and then a holiday tonight, especially ifyoung Lhors and his father bring us game. Offer your reapers a proper harvestfest, dancing and music and a feast, good barley and beet soup with honeyed flat bread Filling stuff, even if there isn’t venison. A chance for theyoung men of the highlands to properly meet our girls.”

“And the other way about.” Yerik smiled. His young wife hadcome from High Haven at just such a small harvestfest. He patted his mother’scheek. “What will we do,” he murmured, “when you finally leave this world for abetter?”

She clasped his hand. “I do nothing special. I’m simply awoman with long years and a good memory. The village does as much for me as I do for the village-just as we keep an old warrior like Lharis happy by making himhuntsman for all of us and letting him teach his skills to our boys. I can still cook, and I can see patterns that repeat over time.”

“You make it sound so… so ordinary,” he protested.

“It is ordinary, thank all the gods at once,” she assuredhim. “Certain things occur, now and again-like a too-wet planting season.” Shereleased his hand. “Get everyone out there. We’ll bring black bread, apples, andale at midday.” Her gaze moved beyond him toward the sunrise, and she lookedbriefly troubled. Before her son could question her though, she shook off the mood and shooed him away.

Yerik straightened his tunic, settled the thick belt around his middle, then strode off into the midst of the village, rapping on one door and then another before he vanished into the stable to waken their visitors.

Gran watched him go, nodding approvingly. The harvest would be in and safely dry before the storm hit. Nothing else mattered, except keeping the morale of both villages high.

She drew a thread from the ragged hem of a sleeve and wound it around her finger so that she would remember to have the common room readied after the soup was simmering. There’d be no dancing in the open square thisnight-not for long, at least. The ache in her bones told her that this would bethe kind of storm her long-dead husband had called a giant killer.

An interesting name, she thought. Why it was called that, however… She didn’t know for sure. Probably because it described a truefury of a storm, a storm that hit just short of midnight and pulverized the senses with forks of lightning and sent thunder to set the dogs howling and make the elders glad their ears no longer worked so well.

After a full day under that hot, muggy sky, most of the harvesters would be exhausted, only the young still willing to dance. With luck, the worst of the storm wouldn’t hit until the children were sound asleep.

She’d best remember to tell Yerik to make sure a few of thevillagers had enough energy to patrol the fields. Lightning-fires could devastate what few grazing lands they had.

She shoved the braid over her shoulders. Storm weather was making her feel broody and old, but there was work to do. She glanced toward the sunrise one last time before setting to her tasks. The sun had cleared the distant peaks and now seemed merely a little too bright. West, the mountains were still a dark mass, smothered in black towering cloud.

Out in the fields, the harvest went on as the sun rose tomidday and fell toward the ever-thickening cloud in the west. Women and men, bent nearly in half, worked their way efficiently backward down the ranks of dry plants, grabbing a fat handful of stems and scything them right at the dirt before dropping them in place and moving on to the next handful. Behind them, others came to free a single stalk and use it as a binding cord around the rest. Boys and young women followed, gathering up the bundles and carrying them to the two handcarts, while children picked up whatever had fallen and tossed it into baskets.

Yerik allowed a decent break for midday meal, knowing people would be able to work harder and longer for food and a short nap. The weather still held off, but the late afternoon air was pale gold and utterly still, as if some god had distilled it.

The sun was still a full hand above the clouds when the last basket was picked up and the carts were hauled back under the stable’s low rooffor the night. Abandoning the carts and baskets, villagers and their guests went to remove the layers of dust and chaff-coated sweat before gathering in the village square where two black pots bubbled, spreading the soothing odor of a familiar soup.

Night came early, with a rising wind and heavy black clouds that blotted out the western mountains and even the near foothills. Thunder grumbled in the distance, and occasionally the western sky was briefly pale with lightning. But the air was cool and fresh for the first time in long hours, and the rain held off.

After everyone had eaten well, Dikos broke out his three-stringed b’lyka, while Mikati unpacked the four flat drums from their hidecase, settling them on his broad lap. People cheered and clapped as the two consulted before finally breaking into the familiar jigging tune they always played first. For some moments they played to an empty square while some of the older women clapped time. Then Emyas tugged her newly pledged Arkos to his feet, and got him dancing. Others joined them. A half dozen of the girls got up and formed a circle, dancing, giggling at the boys and at each other. Gran and the other cooks settled back, pleasantly tired, to watch and occasionally gossip about the dancers or those who sat close together, chuckling as they wagered on which would be the next pair to pledge.

Song followed song as evening deepened into night.

All at once, the air turned much cooler. Lightning forked across the southwestern hill country and thunder rumbled, louder and closer to the flash of light. The two players set aside their instruments as a gust of wind blew across the ground, sending a swirl of dust and cook-fire smoke high. At that moment, a dark, bulky man in leathers came into the open light, followed closely by a youth of perhaps seventeen years. The older man carried a strung bow in one hand and a drawn sword in the other-unusual in a peaceful village.His face, normally expressionless, was set and grim. Yerik wove between the suddenly stilled dancers, the old woman right on his heels.

“Lharis, Lhors, what is it?” the headman demanded in a lowvoice. Lharis held a finger against his mouth and made a warning glance at the gathered villagers. His son Lhors was pale to the lips. Lharis beckoned urgently, drawing Yerik and his mother under their porch.

“Giants,” he murmured. “We were crossing the fallow ridge atsunset to get help bringing in the kill, and we saw two giants, hulking brutes twice my height and breadth at least. I don’t think they saw us. They wereangling away from here, north and west, but they seemed curious and interested in what they saw. We had to go to ground for some time until we were certain they’d left.”

Lhors swallowed. His two thrusting spears clattered together.

“We’d better ready for an attack,” the retired warrior addedevenly.

“Ready? Attack? Against-?” Yerik’s voice broke.

The other man nodded firmly. “Hold together, man. It’s notimpossible. We’ve a few who can use bow or spears. Find them, and warn them tomove quietly but quickly to fetch their arms. Meanwhile, you get everyone else out of sight and kept quiet.” He glanced over at Gran. “See that those fires areput out. With luck, the creatures aren’t after this village, and they may notknow exactly where it is.”

He didn’t believe that last, Gran realized, her own mouthdry. “If we tell people what the threat is, everyone will panic,” she said.

Lharis shook his head.

“No, don’t do that. Just say there’s a danger. Say it’sbandits. Get the women and children to the root cellars where they won’t beheard. Pick some of the older boys to douse all those torches and ready as many others as we have, once they’ve put out the cook fires. Put them down next tothe oven and keep it lit. The flames won’t show, and the torches will be rightthere to light, when it’s time.” The aged warrior eyed the headman, who wastrying to say something. “Cheer up, Yerik. Giants aren’t immortals. They can dieas readily as men.”

Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed almost on its heels, shaking the ground. “No one should be out in this anyway. Get our people undercover because the storm’s setting up strong. I saw only the two, Yerik. Our mencan deal with two giants.”

“Deal… with…” Yerik echoed blankly.

“Do what he says, my son. Go!” Gran gave him a shove. Shewaited to be sure he was moving in the right direction then turned back to the two hunters. “Your spears, Lhors, have you more of them?”

The boy stared at her, his eyes wild, then jumped convulsively as a small child screamed. The village flared with blue light, thunder cracking on top of it. Gran felt the hair stand up on her head and arms. She turned to see terrified people suddenly running in all directions, her son standing in the middle of the square staring up into the trees. And up. Darkness was followed in a blink by a brilliant blue-white flash that cast strange shadows.

“That isn’t one of our oaks,” Gran said to herself. Suddendread seized her as lightning illuminated trees, roofs, and a huge snarling face looming above the roofs.

The heavily bearded giant was more than twice her size, and most of his head was covered in a metal cap. His body was clad in heavy-looking hides that bared massive arms, and several long spears dangled from one meaty hand.

Bellowing, part laugh and part battle cry, the giant strode forward into the square, hefting an enormous spear as he searched for a target. Panicked villagers streamed in every direction-all except for one. Lharis stoodin the midst of the chaos, waving his sword and trying to direct the hysterical crowd. The giant spotted him and hurled its massive spear straight for him. The deadly missile sang through the air and slammed into the warrior.

Lharis choked. He was knocked off his feet a man’s length ormore before he went down. Blood-too much blood-ran down his chin. His handsclawed at the thick wooden haft that swayed above his belly and pinned him firmly to the ground.

“Father!” Lhors’ voice cracked into treble. He threw himselfat the older man. Lharis tried to speak, but no words came. His eyes found Gran. She nodded, caught Lhors by the shirt and dragged him back.

“Don’t!” she shouted. “That’s a killing blow. You can’t helphim. You’ll only cause him more pain, and he knows it! Get all the children youcan and get them to the cellars. Go!”

“I can’t!”

“You can! Go!”

The boy glanced back at his father. Lharis lay still, his hands suddenly limp at his sides and his eyes staring sightlessly up. Lhors shuddered and turned away.

Gran paused to take stock. People were running in all directions, girls screaming shrilly, men bellowing and cursing. A hideous, deep laugh drowned them out. The giant who’d killed Lharis stepped into the square,overturning the empty soup pot as he shouted what must be an order, but she couldn’t understand a word of it. Three more giants-huge-muscled, fur-andhide-clad brutes-immediately came from the trees to stride after the villagersfleeing into the stable. Somewhere beyond them, she could hear her son shouting, “No! Don’t go in the buildings! Get out of the stable! Get to the stream or thecellars!”

She turned back to see what she could do. Across the square, much too near the still ruddy fires and the giant who’d killed Lharis, she couldsee Mibya and her nearest sister. They’d scooped up four of the little ones, andthe sister bent her head over the two children she held, letting dark cloth hide her white hair as she edged cautiously sideways. With a sudden spurt of movement, the woman turned and ran between two huts and vanished into the night, but Mibya stared up, frozen in place.

The wisewoman yelled at her, but Mibya either didn’t hear orwas too terrified to move. The giant flung back a hide cloak, sheathed his sword, and bent down to shove a finger in the still nearly full pot of soup.

That’s boiling, Gran thought, stunned. But if it burned him,he gave no sign. He licked broth from his finger, then smiled, baring yellowed teeth the size of shields, and moved with appalling speed, slapping Mibya aside with the back of his fist. With one swift bound and a snatch, the giant scooped up the children she’d been carrying and dropped them into the boiling soup. Heclapped a round shield over the open top, holding it down with one huge hand.

Gran could hear Mibya shrieking. Her own legs wouldn’t holdher. Mibya’s voice died suddenly. Probably the woman had as well. Gran squaredher shoulders and crawled to where Lhors still knelt and caught hold of his ear. She tugged. Finally, he crawled after her into the dark. She kept a pinch-hold on his ear. He whimpered and flailed ineffectively at her. “Stop it!” shehissed. “There is no time! Stay out of the light and gather up as many of thewomen and children as you can without being seen!”

“But…” He couldn’t manage anything else.

Gran slewed around in front of him to pinch his other ear as well. “Listen to me!” she ordered in a furious whisper. “We will lose many ofour dearest ones this night. It’s too late to stop that! All we can do now isrescue every single soul the gods permit us to save! Do you understand me?”

Silence.

The giant who hovered over the soup pot removed his makeshift lid and gazed down at the interior. Her stomach churned. Apparently satisfied, he dropped the lid back with a ringing clatter, then strode off to help his fellows. Several of them had fished brands from the fire and were thrusting them deep into the stable roof.

She could no longer hear Yerik, Gran realized bleakly. She forced herself to concentrate on the heaving boy who stared at her with wet, terrified eyes. “Getpeople into the cellars-not the new cellars, they’ll collapse! Or getdown to the lower dell or the stream. Find anyone hiding beneath the floors of houses. They’ll die if they stay there. Do you understand me, boy?”

At first, she couldn’t be certain that he did. A glance overhis shoulder as more lightning flashed gave her a new count of enemy. At least ten more leather-clad brutes were approaching from the north.

Lhors caught a shuddering breath, nodded sharply, then scrabbled away from her on his hands and knees into the darkness.

Gran went flat and still as more giants stormed uphill from across the fields. If I’m stepped on, she prayed silently, let it kill me atonce.

A woman’s scream topped even the thunder. The ground trembledall around her. For one brief moment, it was blessedly quiet. The stable went up with a crackling roar, and giants cheered. She clapped her hands over her ears and huddled next to dead Lharis as those trapped inside the building burned, while others fought free of the flames only to die on huge spears and swords.

Something was bruising her ribs, she realized-the deadwarriors sword lay some distance away, but one of his daggers had fallen from its scabbard. Slowly, cautiously, she wrapped a hand around it and drew it from under her. The weight of the thing, the feel of the carefully wound leather wrappings around the hilt, gave her a little inner strength. At least she could choose her own death, if nothing else. She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes.

There were at least twenty giants out there, most surrounding the fiery stable while others torched houses or went looking for herd beasts or other fodder. They’d consider human bodies the same as game, fodder for the pot.She didn’t dare stay here.

May the gods bless you for your care of us, she silently offered Lharis, then eased cautiously away from his body and back into the dark.

The roaring fires of burning houses and barns cast an uncertain light. Shadows of running villagers and stalking giants flickered and danced in the flames’ cruel glow. Gran moved through the darkness, avoiding thelight when she could and refusing to acknowledge the bloodied and broken corpses that littered her village.

In the end, she was only able to rescue two young girls who had hidden under the back of the common house. Now smoke filled the building, flame shot through the thatched roof, and the back wall was uncomfortably warm. She could hear giants laughing down by the burning stable. Another was close but seemed to be occupied with plundering the henhouse. She couldn’t leave the twoanyway, Gran realized bleakly. She’d delivered young Ilina herself, ten yearsearlier.

It took work and time to persuade the girls to leave the scrape they’d dug themselves, even though the boards were beginning to glow red.When a pocket of pine-resin popped, sending sparks showering in all directions, little Ilina fixed her eyes on Gran’s eyes, clamped her fingers around weepingNidyi’s wrist, and somehow got them both into the open just before the wholebuilding collapsed. Gran gripped Ilina’s fingers and felt hers gripped in reply.She fought them all away from the fire, dragging the girls across open ground and into the prickly brush.

Horrid laughter echoed all around them, punctuated by occasional screams or howls of pain.

The girls would have stopped at the brush, but the old woman was adamant. She tugged fiercely at them, now hissing an order against one young ear or another while dragging the two terrified girls downhill along a shallow gully. Numb from terror, they stumbled into the narrow-mouthed cavern where just hours earlier she’d emerged with a basket of barley and a freshly mixed bag ofherbs for the soup. She got the two inside ahead of her and waited while they eased their way back into darkness.

The cries of her people tore at her. She clutched the dagger, but the urge was foolish-one old human woman against so many giants, the leastof them twice her height. She’d die to no cause, and these two girls would surelydie as well.

She gasped as booming laughter drowned everything, including thunder. The sky above her was blood red, then painfully blue-white. Thunder roared to deafen the very gods, but it couldn’t quite drown a spiraling roarthat shook her very bones. One of their enemies had just died up there. Rain suddenly poured down in sheets. She was soaked between one breath and another. All at once, the fires were diminished.

Wind soughed over her. Gran’s nose twisted as she smelledburned hair and charred flesh. Thunder momentarily deafened her and drove her to her knees. When she could again hear, all she could hear was a deep, rumbling voice, bellowing orders that made no sense to her.

Just after dawn, Gran coaxed the girls from hiding and backup the hill. Lharis’ dagger rested against her back the way she had seen himwear it. “In case,” she whispered, but Ilina and Nidyi didn’t hear her. Bothfollowed where she led, often stumbling. That was good. With luck, they’d neverremember the previous night. With better luck, she’d have no need of thatdagger. If she did, they were all three dead anyway.

She moved cautiously into the square, the girls behind her. The enemy was long gone, leaving behind the burned husks of buildings. The dead lay everywhere. Oddly, the village goats grazed on spilled grain just beyond the ashes of the stable. Gran frowned. Why had the giants left goats and bodies behind? It wasn’t like any of the tales she’d heard.

But she could see the answer right in the middle of the square. A dead giant sprawled across the open ground, his leather armor still smoldering and what skin she could see blackened as if by fire. She smiled grimly. A giant killer of a storm, yes. Lightning seeks whatever is tallest: tree, stone; sword set upright at a crossroads, or a giant in the midst of an otherwise barren square. The rest of his kind had fled rather than join him in death.

Behind her, a twig snapped and she whirled, dropping Ilina’swrist and fumbling awkwardly for the dagger. But it was only Lhors, weaponless, his face haggard and tears making muddy paths down a filthy face. The dark beard he’d begun to show this past year was burned in places, and one eyebrow wasmostly gone.

The girls remained where she left them. Lhors blinked at her expressionlessly, but as her fingers dug into his arm, he winced. Not in shock like the girls, then, just hurting. But there was no time for mourning-not foreither of them.

“Boy,” she hissed.

“G-gran?” he stuttered. “They’re dead. E-everyone. All ofthem.” His hand fell limp against his leg. “I tried what you said. I tried!”

“Shhh. It’s all right,” she said quietly.

“No, it’s not!” He pulled free of her grasp. “N-no one wouldlisten to me. They ran, and then I had Bregya and her youngest boy, and she l-looked at me and she… she…” He swallowed, turned away. “They’re alldead, except us,” he said finally.

Gran patted his shoulder. There was nothing she could say that would mend this, and just now, she wanted to weep for her own son. But this boy… he kept things inside when he was upset. She didn’t dare let him do itwith this. “I’m sorry, Lhors. It’s a dreadful thing. At least you and yourfather did what you could to avert it. Remember that.”

The boy’s eyes brimmed, and his lips twisted in anger. “Whyremember?” he managed, his voice thick with tears. “Will it change anything?”

“Not now, but it will help you later.”

He swore a soldier’s oath that shocked her silent. “I don’tcare about later! My father-he had no chance! He fought for the king all hisgrown life! And then, only to be cast off like an aging horse because he was too old to fight! To send him out here to protect peasants!”

“And we were grateful to him. He gave us his skills, and hegave us you. Second-guessing a life is foolish, Lhors,” Gran said flatly. “Hedied a hero. Remember that.” She wrapped both arms around him briefly. “We can’tstay here, Lhors. There’s no time. The giants may return. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“You’re certain no one lives?”

He nodded.

“You’ve checked the cellars beneath the houses that aren’tburned?”

“All of that. There’s no one.” He gazed helplessly at thetwisted, blackened wreck of the stable.

Gran closed her eyes briefly. “Lhors, we’ve work to do, youand I.”

He nodded faintly. “I’ll fetch shovels-”

“No, there are too many, and there are other immediate needs.One of us must go to High Haven at once to see if they were also attacked. If not, they must be warned of the danger, as must every village around us. I will have one of the High Haveners ride down to New Market with the warning and have him bring back men to dig graves or build pyres.”

“But I can dig-”

She laid a finger across his lips, silencing him. “No. Youhave another, harder task. You must catch Old Margit or one of the other horses and take the road to Cryllor. You must request an audience with Lord Mebree and inform him of what has happened. At the very least, you must warn the guard company there that giants have done this.”

Lhors stared at her, his mouth slack. “Go to… Gran, whywould they care? And I can’t ride worth a-”

“They’ll care,” the old woman replied bluntly. “Aboutrevenues at the very least. Dead villagers don’t pay taxes. But the guard willhave to stop giants who are bold enough to openly attack the way those did. Remember that this is not a plea for our lowly selves. Remember that. Keep this in mind instead: taxes. The king will send an army to keep the money flowing.”

The boy swallowed, and his prominent throat-apple bounced. “Gran, you’re mad! You’d send me to convince a council? My father was only acaptain of one of the hill companies, and that was over twenty years ago!”

“Yes, but that’s more than any of the rest of us ever were.You are the son of a soldier, and that’s more than anyone else can claim. Youare the only one we can send, Lhors. There is no one else. Now, remember to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ often, especially to officers and nobles. That may opendoors for you. Do not let them refuse to hear you, though.”

“I can try,” Lhors said doubtfully, “but I won’t leave youhere alone. We’ll all go. If I can catch Margit, the girls can ride her to HighHaven. Then I’ll go on, I promise you.”

To her dismay, Gran’s eyes filled with tears. She dashed themimpatiently aside. “Good lad. Go find Margit. We’ll wait here.”