Against the Giants

2

To Lhors’ surprise, Vlandar and Malowan sent word about thecity, not the lord or the king. The day after they were granted the king’sblessing, the two men planned to interview candidates in Vlandar’s barracks andthe nearby practice yard. Fortunately, Malowan was as willing as Vlandar to explain things to a village youth out of his element.

“The task has been passed on to Vlandar. Besides, some ofthose Vlandar would like to recruit are the kind who won’t want any part of an‘official’ company. On a journey like this, you want the toughest, and theyaren’t always law-abiding.”

Lhors had also assumed that by now he would be on his way back to High Haven, but when he had suggested as much, Vlandar waved it aside. “You have a right to be here to see us begin vengeance for your people.”

When the first two men-rough-looking fellows armed with netsand pikes and clad in hardened leathers-came looking for the warrior, Vlandarhad both Malowan and Lhors with him.

Vlandar talked to both men for some time-Sterich mercenaries,Malowan later confirmed. Lhors had seen such men once before but had never entertained the idea of working with them. After a short interview, Vlandar turned them down. Neither seemed particularly offended as they walked off.

Lhors shook his head. “They seemed very experienced to me.”

Vlandar laughed. “Yes, but not the kind of experience wewant. There’s a rumor those two men killed a companion a year ago so that theywouldn’t have to split a purse of gold with him.”

“It’s not rumor,” Malowan put in quietly. “I know theykilled him.”

Vlandar shrugged. “We don’t want swordsmen who can’t betrusted, but Olmic isn’t that good, anyway.” He dropped the subject as someoneelse came in and hesitated in the doorway, eyes searching the room.

“Nemis!” The paladin held out his hands, and the newcomertook them between his own dark-skinned, long fingers. “I thought you weren’tinterested!”

“I have changed my mind.” Dark brown eyes moved across theother two before fixing on Vlandar. One eyebrow went up.

Malowan smiled. “Vlandar’s in charge here. You know of him,don’t you? The young man is Lhors. The village was his. Lhors, Nemis is a mage.”

Lhors studied the newcomer with interest. The mage was tall and lean, and Lhors would have placed him in his mid to late thirties. His hair was long and curled, and his thin, sun-darkened face sported a narrow mustache and neat little beard. He wore dark green trousers tucked into soft brown boots and a long green tunic, held at the waist by a sword belt and a curious-looking woven sash. A brooch of leather at his breast was carved with a pattern of three diamonds. The sword belt held a plain rapier, and a matching poniard was stuck in the sash. The mage casually leaned against a walking stick that looked as if it might be a fighting staff.

“You’re a mage, so why carry those?” Vlandar’s eyes fixed onthe sword belt.

A corner of the dark man’s mouth quirked. His voice was lowand non-carrying. “I like blades, but only a fool depends on one strength.”

“I can vouch for him. He knows which end of a sword goes inand which you hold,” Malowan said with a sudden grin, “even if he’s not muchbetter than that with them.”

Vlandar nodded. “I trust Mal, and I’ve heard of you, Nemis.But why did you change your mind? Mal said-”

The mage shrugged. “Malowan hadn’t told me you were ridingagainst the Steading, against the giants. If you do, you’ll need me.”

“Oh? Why?” the warrior returned sharply.

“I have battled giants before. I know spells that workagainst them. I’m good at what I do.”

Before Vlandar could reply, Malowan tapped him on the arm and drew him into the far corner of the barracks room, where they talked quietly but intensely for some moments.

When they came back, Vlandar held out his hands, palm up. Nemis placed his hands on the warrior’s, palm down.

“Mal’s word is good for me, Nemis, but if there’s anythingyou’d like to tell me before we leave Cryllor, I would appreciate it. An oldwarrior like me doesn’t appreciate surprises, you know.” He turned to Malowan.“Will we need another magician for healing spells, or can you manage that?”

“Malowan and I have worked together before,” the mage saidquietly, “and I will procure a few specialized charms before we leave.”

“Find whatever you need. The king and the Lord Mebree aregood for it. We’ll leave here as soon as we can. Stay nearby, or let me knowwhere you’ll be tomorrow and the day after. If there’s any special gear or othersupplies you need, let me know.”

The mage merely shook his head, turned, and left.

Over the next two days, Lhors watched in fascinated silenceas Vlandar interviewed a number of would-be giant-slayers and heroes. Malowan was sometimes there but was often acting as go-between with the lord’s steward.The paladin went back and forth-sometimes hourly as yet another list ofnecessary supplies was worked up.

Most of the time, Malowan’s young companion was elsewhere,much to the relief of Lhors. Agya teased or mocked him incessantly when Malowan wasn’t around. He still found it hard to believe when the girl admitted tofourteen years, but Malowan assured him she was at least that old. Even cleaned up and clad more like a girl, she still looked no more than a skinny ten or so to his eyes. Probably she had found her size and shape useful. Lhors couldn’timagine a girl thief surviving long in the bad parts of the city.

Vlandar and Malowan both were willing to explain to an untutored villager why they chose one applicant over another. A noble who had proven sword-skill and an impressive background against local road thieves was turned down.

“Hobric can’t get beyond the fact he’s noble, so he feels hemust be in charge, even if he hasn’t the skills of a leader,” Vlandar told Lhorsafter the man had stormed out of the barracks. “Also, he goes nowhere withouthis personal servant. The creature’s said to be part orc and nowhere near sowell trained as he believes it to be.”

“It has eaten men,” Malowan said with distaste, “and it isnot a servant. It is a slave, and even though it is a dreadful creature, no one should have the right to enslave another. If Hobric and that brute go with Vlandar, I do not.”

“What is this?” Vlandar asked suddenly.

Two reed-slender young women clad in rusty browns and greens had entered just as Hobric stormed out. One clutched an unstrung longbow, while the other wore a bundle of short throwing spears over her right shoulder.

“Rangers,” Vlandar murmured to Lhors.

The youth nodded, his eyes wide. Not just rangers by the look of them, but identical twins. As they came across the small room, he could see long, neat, very pointed ears rising from their thick dark hair. One of the women had her hair bundled back into a long plait, and her sister confined hers with a leather thong. Both wore small silver hair-brooches shaped like an oak and thistle above their right ears.

Try as he might, Lhors could only tell them apart by the hair and the different pattern of brown-on-brown checkered shirts they both wore over plain trousers that were almost baggy enough to be taken for skirts. Two pairs of incredible, slightly slanted, green eyes met his curiously, then moved on.

“Warrior, I am Rowan,” the bow wielder said in a low, huskyvoice, “and this is my sister, Maera. We hear you’re hoping to teach theSteading a lesson.”

The other spoke in a slightly reedier voice. “We’re rangers,as you’ve no doubt guessed already. I am told you knew our father, Anaerich ofKet?”

“I met Anaerich some years ago.” Vlandar half-stood so hecould bow. “I wasn’t aware he was Kettish-or that there were elves or half-elvesin Ket.”

“There aren’t many,” Maera said. “Our father left Ket longyears ago.”

Rowan smiled faintly. “We want to help if you’re going afterthe Steading. What those overgrown brutes did to our forest last spring is appalling. We’ve certain useful skills beyond tracking and woodcraft.”

“Such as?” asked Vlandar.

“We will demonstrate, if you wish,” Rowan replied with a mischievous smile.Motioning the others to follow, she and her sister strode back into the yard.

Lhors accompanied Vlandar and watched in fascination as Rowan strung her bow and slipped an arrow to the string. Lhors had scarcely looked up to the target on the far wall before Maera’s javelin quivered squarely in thecenter of the tiny white patch. Rowan laughed, pulled the nocked arrow to her cheek, and loosed in one swift motion. Her arrow quivered in the center of the javelin’s haft.

“We’ve been rangers for twenty-four years,” Maera explained.“We know how to work with a team, warrior.”

“Say no more,” Vlandar said, grinning widely. “A man would bea fool to turn down rangers. We’ll leave as soon as we can, so stay in touch. Ifyou have any particular needs as far as gear or supplies, let Malowan here know. He’ll see you get whatever you need.”

“Elves?” Lhors asked after the twins had gone.

Vlandar nodded. “Half-elven, but any elf blood means you’rean elf. And rangers… a thief like young Agya can move unnoted around a cityor a slum, but those two could make her look clumsy. We’ll be fortunate to havethem.” He grinned as Lhors nodded with enthusiasm. “For their talents, boy.They’re well over twice your seventeen years, even if they don’t lookit.”

Lhors blushed.

They both turned toward the door as someone yelled, “Getyourself out of my way, wench! I have business in here!”

Lhors heard Rowan snarl something that left a foppish young man red-faced and sputtering. The rangers bowed sarcastically, then left as the man stomped into the barracks and stared around with visible distaste.

“Mercy on us,” Vlandar said to Lhors mildly, but his lipstwitched. “It’s a hero.”

“He looks like one,” Lhors replied, eyes wide as he studiedthe fellow.

“I am Arkon,” the newcomer announced loudly. His voice wasconsiderably deeper than it had been when he had yelled at the rangers. He wore silk-a brilliantly red shirt with bloused sleeves and sleek black trouserstucked into knee-high boots. Black leather gauntlets covered his arms halfway to the elbow. The pommels of his daggers and the basket hilts of his matched swords were gold-washed, as were the daggers thrust into his belt and his boots. “Arkonthe Adamant is here to seek one Vlandar, who has need of my ser-” His voicecracked.

Vlandar bent down to adjust one of his boots and hide a grin, but a splutter of laughter escaped Malowan. The young man snarled a particularly filthy curse and whipped both swords out, revealing wavy zhosh blades.

Vlandar sighed heavily and got up to intercept him. “I amVlandar,” he said as he began to ease the young man back outside, “and captainof these barracks. This is no place to provoke a fight.”

Malowan suddenly and quietly slipped onto the cot next to Lhors. “Aaaaugh,” the paladin mumbled. “It was too much to hope the young foolwouldn’t have heard about this.”

Lhors blinked. “But all those blades,” he whispered, “and abow and javelins! He must really be good. Isn’t that what you want?”

Malowan nodded. “If he was a tenth of what he appears to be,yes. He’s not, though. Oh, he’s good enough with the swords. You’d be impressed,if you saw him in a duel against a pack of drunken thugs. His mothers paid for his dueling masters since he was a boy. She’s the one who sees he has fancyclothes and expensive weapons, and she’s noble. Few men of the noble or commonrank would risk offending her by injuring her precious boy.”

Lhors eyed Arkon the Adamant, who now stood arguing with Vlandar. Full sun fell on a face that might be considered handsome.

“If I were a swordsman,” Lhors ventured cautiously, “I wouldnot wear sleeves like that. My opponent’s blade might catch in them.”

“You remember what Vlandar’s been telling you,” Malowan saidwarmly. “Good lad. What else?”

“He looks very wealthy. That’s foolish, unless you want toattract thieves.” Lhors sighed. “And he was rude to the rangers. That wasn’tnecessary.”

“He is wealthy, or his widowed mother is. She buys anythinghe asks for, and when he gets into trouble with his shiny toys, she blames his companions who must have led him astray. He picks his fights carefully and never fights anyone better than he.”

“He’s not a hero?” Lhors asked.

Malowan nodded. “He’s a fraud and not even named Arkon. Hisreal name is Plowys, after his mother’s brother.”

A sharp, angry curse brought the paladin around, hands out. The young noble had come back in, unnoticed by either Lhors or Malowan.

“Your pardon, young Arkon,” the paladin said smoothly. “I wasnot aware you were eavesdropping.”

“If you mean to imply that I was sneaking about, listening toyour gossip…” the youth said angrily.

“I imply nothing,” Malowan said evenly as Vlandar came backinto the barracks, where he could step between them. “I merely wonder that yourmother Plovenia would allow you to go twenty paces beyond the city gates in any company whatever. I doubt her purse strings or her apron strings stretch so far.”

“You insult my lady mother?” Plowys demanded.

“No,” Malowan replied evenly, “I insult you, and you knowwhy, young Plowys. A young companion of my ward is dead because you challenged him. Remember Vesisk? He was a street lad, a boy with no weapons skill at all, and you challenged him to a battle and killed him. One day, your mother will no longer be able to buy your way out of such situations.”

Plowys-or Arkon-swore under his breath and freed a dagger.Lhors gasped as the man stalked forward, but the paladin made no effort to defend himself. As the fancy-clad young man brought the blade up, it seemed to slam into an invisible barrier and bounce back. Plowys yelped as the dagger went flying.

“You should know better than to try to harm a paladin,”Vlandar told him. “He has his own protection. Fortunately, he’s not in the habitof attacking young men with bad manners.”

“It’s not fair,” the would-be swashbuckler whimpered.

“Life is not fair,” Malowan said evenly. “Most youths yourage have learned it by now. Your mother cannot buy you a place in this company, and she would be appalled to learn you came here. Go home. We are looking for those who can work as a team-something you may learn one day. You would not likethe world beyond Cryllor. Giants, goblins, and other evil creatures do not know your mother and would not spare you because of her rank and wealth.”

“You’re afraid,” Plowys said, “afraid I’m better than you.”

“No,” Malowan replied simply.

Vlandar shook his head firmly. “You cannot pick your fightsout there. Challenge the wrong foe, and you’re dead without even a chance todraw your blades.”

“You’ll be sorry,” Plowys snarled, but Lhors didn’t think hisheart was in it anymore. The pouting young man resheathed the dagger andstalked off.

Malowan watched him leave then sighed after a moment. “I willspend my next two nights kneeling on a cold stone floor to implore the gods’forgiveness for my treatment of that poor child. Heironeous sees into my heart and knows I still can feel such anger.”

“Phuff!” Vlandar spoke sharply, silencing him. “I wonder the‘poor child’ is still alive after insulting so many.”

“He’s still alive,” Malowan replied, “because he only choosesfights against poor or drunk men. I wonder why the guard has not arrested him before now.”

“Because, as you say, his mother protects him, and becausehe’s only just finished his course of swordplay with Master Eggidos. He hasn’tbeen on Cryllor’s streets that long.” Vlandar still sounded angry. “Make youramends if you will, Malowan. If your god is the least fair, he’ll understand.”

“No.” Malowan smiled faintly. “In my anger and pride, Ichallenged the boy’s manhood, his sword skills, and ill-spoke his mother. He isuntutored and ignorant, but I am not.” He rose to his feet. “I will return,Vlandar. If Agya comes this afternoon, remind her that I want to hear her recite the Acts of Clean Living tomorrow morning. I also want her to resume honing her skills at sniffing out things. It might prove itself useful on this journey.”

Vlandar clasped his friend’s arm. “I will. Mind you, don’thold vigil the entire night. I have need of you tomorrow.”

Malowan smiled faintly. “I know. I will be here.”

He left, and Lhors watched him go.

Vlandar cleared his throat. “Any questions, lad?”

The youth rubbed his still-patchy beard. Arkon’s-Plowys’-had been both thick and neatly trimmed. I could envy him just the beard, letalone those blades, thought Lhors. He sighed and said, “I think I understand.Father said a man who fights only those he can beat is a bully. But out there against giants he couldn’t choose his fights.”

“Exactly. Now-” Vlandar broke off as a huge red-haired mancame into the barracks and began looking around. The man was impressively built and armed. Tall and massive with broad shoulders, the man’s hands were huge andcapable-looking. Lhors tried not to stare as the fellow stopped mid-room, but it was nearly impossible not to. A thick, braided sash held up heavy woolen trousers. A second sash held both an enormous warhammer and a spiked ball and chain. His armor was all padded and quilted, reinforced here and there with black hardened leather that was shiny with age. He was very pale-skinned, his hair pale golden-red and braided back with two narrow beaded strands hanging in front of his ears. His eyes were light winter-sky blue and intense.

“Who is that?” Lhors whispered.

“I’ve seen him round the city once or twice in the past fewdays. He’s Fist clan, I think.”

“Fist?”

“They inhabit the lands around the Grendep Bay in the farnortheast, cold lands. He’s a barbarian, anyway. Why?”

“Just wondered. I’ve heard tales of the northerners.”

Vlandar smiled. “They can be arrogant and touchy, but theyare excellent fighters.”

At Vlandar’s gesture, the barbarian strode over to the tableand said, “I am Khlened.” His voice was deep, rough, and carried an accent thatLhors had never heard. “I’m seeking one named Vlandar. I hear he wants men tofight giants.”

Lhors edged over to settle on his bunk as the massive barbarian sat on the nearby bench. As Vlandar went over their mission, the newcomer sat and listened quietly, now and again eyeing the youth perched on his narrow cot.

“Well, then,” he said after Vlandar had finished. “I’m goodin a fight-good even among my own people.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Vlandar said mildly, “but we also needmen who can follow orders.”

Khlened’s eyes narrowed. “You saying I can’t?”

“No. I’m saying I’ve fought alongside northerners before.Where we’re going, we’ll have one person in charge, and that will be me. Thestrongest and bravest warriors no good to me if he ignores my orders or sets his own course. We’re a small company. With you, we’ll have eight so far. That meanswe all get along. No feuds or wounded feelings, and we share everything.”

The barbarian huffed and pushed partway to his feet, but then he hesitated and finally bared his teeth in a wild grin. He dropped back to the bench, rattling Lhors.

“All right, Vlandar. There’s sense in that. You have my word.Who else goes?”

The warrior turned down fingers as he went. “Myself, apaladin called Malowan, a young thief who’s his ward, two rangers, a mage namedNemis, and you.”

Khlened glanced at Lhors. “That’s seven. What of the lad,here?”

Lhors shook his head. His skin felt suddenly cold. “I’m not mean-”

“The village was his,” Vlandar replied and gazed thoughtfullyat Lhors. “It’s his choice, if he wants to come with us.”

Lhors’ eyes went wide. “I… but Vlandar, I can’t. Imean, I’m no fighter!”

Vlandar held up a hand. “I think you can. Your father beganyour training, Lhors. I’ve watched you these past days. You have skills thatwould be useful. You know your limits, you can follow orders, and you listen. We’ll be a small party, and we could use someone who won’t be worn out fromconstant travel, someone who can serve as extra eyes and ears and hands.”

Lhors had never considered this. Since coming to Cryllor, he had expected to be on his way after requesting the lord’s help. He had neverdreamed of being asked to help against the giants. He had Gran to think of…but he knew that was a false excuse. As a village wisewoman, she wouldn’t lackfor care.

He had no family to which he could return. He thought of his father and remembered the aging soldier impaled upon a giants spear. In his mind, he saw his father’s life leaking away as the man lay in a pool of his ownblood. That faded but was replaced by the memory of screaming, terrified children, too young and helpless to defend themselves. Lhors saw again Bregya’sthree year old as the giant took him and…

Something cold stirred inside Lhors. Again he saw the giants laughing as they slaughtered women and children and burned his village to the ground. “I’ll go.”

Even the Fist barbarian looked taken aback at the sudden change in the youths voice and the stern set of his gaze.

“Good lad,” replied Vlandar. “I’ll see to it the king’ssteward finds someone to return that horse and have him take word to the old woman-Gran, was it? We’ll have to fit you up with weapons and armor of somesort. Your father taught you to use javelins, right?”

Lhors nodded, afraid to trust his voice. The mention of his father brought back memories that he could cherish later, but now he needed them for other reasons. His fear was still there, but it had now been joined by something else: rage and a sudden thirst for vengeance.