Giant thief

CHAPTER 23

The gap between the crags ran for perhaps another twenty paces. Beyond that point the trail continued with only empty air to either side. It could optimistically be described as a bridge, albeit one crafted solely by the forces of nature, and then in one of her more capricious moods. Bridges, after all, were traditionally wider, and generally had something to stop a traveller being torn away by screaming winds and hurled into the void.

"You don't really think I'm crossing that?"

Saltlick looked at me questioningly. Then, apparently not seeing any reason for concern, he pointed to the far side.

"Home."

I gulped. I'd never been afraid of heights. I'd never been particularly afraid of bears either, but that didn't mean I'd wrap my head in fresh meat and thrust it into one's mouth. Knowing there was no going back didn't make the prospect any more appealing.

Estrada and I followed Saltlick as far as the end of the crevasse. He carried on without pause, as if there was no difference to walking between stone walls and terrifying expanses of emptiness. In less than a minute he'd reached the midpoint, where he paused to see if we were following. The bridge was so narrow that he barely had room to turn around, and his feet sent pebbles dancing off the edge.

It was only as I watched them fall that I understood where we'd come out. The span hung over a strip of broiling sea far below, which separated the mountainside we were on from the landmass towering ahead. That was the giant kingdom, hidden on a pinnacle all its own, held apart by this narrow causeway. It rose like the ramparts of some impossible fortress from a froth of white water, and behind, the ocean stretched crystal blue to the horizon.

"Follow?"

Saltlick's cry made the whole span tremble. "Keep your voice down!"

Cowed, he waved instead.

I looked to Estrada, vaguely hoping she would volunteer to go first. She merely stood watching me, arms crossed, a wicked smile playing over her lips.

"Fine. All right."

I closed my eyes, stepped forward.

Then I realised I was standing on a narrow band of rock over a chasm with my eyes closed, and hurriedly opened them again.

The wind wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Its constant push and tug was more unnerving than dangerous. The harder part was knowing where to look. At first, I focused on Saltlick. That meant I couldn't see where I was putting my feet. I looked down instead, saw how vast the difference between background and foreground was, and felt my legs turn to mush. I dropped to hands and knees, and panted icy air into my lungs.

The fear that an enthusiastic gust would tear me free soon overcame my giddiness. I fixed my gaze once more on Saltlick, who stood waiting now on the far side. I began moving again, this time letting my eyes drift slightly to keep myself on track. My pace would have shamed a baby, and only made the ordeal seem to go on forever. I dared a proper step. When I didn't tumble straight over the edge, I took another.

It was faster going after that. Still, by the time I rushed onto solid ground, Saltlick was staring at me as though I were insane. He'd lived all his life up here, no wonder he didn't grasp the concept of vertigo.

That thought brought another close behind it. "Are we there?"

Saltlick pointed. The opening at this side was wider, and its slight slant meant that only there, on the cusp of the bridge, could I see the gateway at its end. Where the walls ran almost sheer, a palisade of logs filled the gap. The fact that Saltlick seemed surprised by its presence suggested it was a new addition. Security had obviously gone up in priority since Moaradrid's visit.

I looked back and saw Estrada crossing the span. If she was even slightly nervous, she hid it well. She practically skipped across, and finished with a bow as she stepped onto solid ground. Ignoring my scowl, she pointed to the palisade and said, "Should we knock?"

In answer, Saltlick paced into the passage. Half way to the barricade, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered. It sounded like a single word, but I couldn't quite make it out over the cascade of stones and loose dirt he'd shaken free.

"Keep it down, Saltlick!"

He ignored me, and howled again. The second time was even louder and just as incomprehensible. I cradled my head, expecting half the cliff to come tumbling down. Saltlick filled his lungs for another effort. Just in time, a voice called from beyond the palisade: two muffled syllables that sounded something like his name.

The logs swung back and up with a creak of straining timber. Two giants stood beyond, one struggling to knot a length of rope around a post driven into the ground. These two looked subtly different from Saltlick. They were smaller, their features weren't quite so coarse, and though their bodies were equally lumpy, they swelled in noticeably different places.

"Ohhh," I mumbled, as my brain struggled to fit the incompatible concepts of "giants" and "women" together.

"Shol Tchik!"

The giantess who wasn't busy keeping the gate open flung her broad arms around Saltlick, who looked both overjoyed and abashed. Releasing him, she rattled off a long sentence in incomprehensible giantish, clasped his hand in hers, and dragged him inside.

Estrada and I followed at a distance. Having just about come to terms with the shock of female giants, I could finally turn my attention to our surroundings.

One glance and my jaw fell open. Whatever I'd been expecting, this wasn't it.

As far as I could see, we were at one end of a bowlshaped plateau, ringed on every side by low escarpments to form an immense natural arena. The ground sloped steadily down ahead, before rising to greater heights of mountainside at its distant far end.

None of that was so surprising. But the thick border of grass to either side, the line of trees that swayed ahead? Here the breeze, crisp to the point of chilliness just instants before, felt comfortably warm on my skin, and moist, almost clammy.

The dirt road we were following — which was more of a path by giant standards — descended from the gate, down a short embankment to meet the tree line. To either side I could see that planks had been laid, covering narrow crevices and punctures in the ground. The grass beside was wilted and brown and the air danced with heat-haze. I thought of the medicinal baths near my hometown of Conta Pelia, which drew from a spring heated deep beneath the ground and ran warm through even the harshest winters. Was there something similar beneath this plateau?

We passed through the edge of the woodland. The trees were vastly tall, bare-trunked for most of their height and then exploding into great canopies of fo liage at their peaks. They were widely spaced for the most part, spread like columns in a grand hall. Looking around to see if we were close to the giant settlement, I made another strange discovery: between many of the trees, huge banners of coarse fabric had been stretched from bole to bole. It reminded me a little of the streamers of drying cloth that dyers sometimes hung across the alleys of Muena Palaiya. Although they were all decorated to some degree, with swirls of symbols in various shades, I didn't think they were purely for show. Occasionally I saw one suspended lower than my head height, but most were so lofty that Saltlick could have easily stepped beneath them.

As we made our way deeper into the forest, Estrada and I hurrying to keep pace with Saltlick and our guide, I noticed more details. I saw how the banners would frequently meet to form a corner, or even a triangle or square, and how some of these shapes were topped with canopies of the same fabric hung taut between the trees. I realised that where crops were being grown — stands of green cane, a grain that looked like wheat but grew far taller, bushes laden with heavy purple and yellow fruits each as big as my head — the banners separated one from the other.

Then it hit me. They were rooms — giant-sized rooms. As soon as I realised it, the whole scene seemed to flip end on end. Gone were trees and banners and sheets, and in their place a giant-scaled town, with walled fields and gardens, highways, vast public areas and enclosed chambers that would offer privacy from anyone of giant rather than man height.

All the while I'd been waiting to glimpse the giant settlement we'd been wandering through its outskirts.

In the time it had taken me to make sense of our surroundings, a half-dozen more giants had fallen in around us, the news of our arrival having rapidly spread in a receding wave of bellows. Though they all seemed friendly, and overjoyed to see Saltlick, it was intimidating to have so many colossal bodies moving so close together, and Estrada and I hung well back. For that reason, I only realised we'd reached our destination when the wall of stocky legs ahead stopped moving and I nearly bashed my head on a giantess's thigh.

Now I understood the purpose of the tree-banners, I could see that we were in the equivalent of a large circular chamber, with avenues leading off like spokes in a wheel. The space was heaving with giant bodies, perhaps as many as a hundred, all gabbling excitedly together. Though I still wasn't entirely sure about giant anatomy, I thought that most of them were female. The few males were barely taller than I was, and I assumed they must be children. It struck me that Moaradrid had only taken adult males for his army. It was conceivably a sign of mercy, but just as likely forward planning for future campaigns.

The banners there were particularly intricate and brightly coloured, and my first thought was that we'd come to the giant equivalent of a town square. Then, through the throng, I noticed the spike of rock thrust through the turf at its centre, its highest point reach ing a little above my head. Near the peak was a smooth, cupped indent, just wide enough that I could have sat up there if I could have climbed it.

Unsurprisingly, however, the giants had chosen not to use the rock as a highchair for passing midgets. Rather, it held a plain wooden rod, almost as long as Saltlick was tall. At one end I could see a simple metal clasp, its prongs wrenched back as if something had been torn from it. I remembered what Estrada had told me that night before we'd reached Altapasaeda. This must be the chief's staff of office, which had housed the giant-stone until Moaradrid's catastrophic arrival.

I was about to point it out to Estrada when the great horde parted, and one particular giantess came hurrying towards us out of the press. She was skinnier than most, her skin puckered and lined, and though she was clearly rushing she was making slow progress. She muttered under her breath all the while, and when she came close enough she hurled herself onto Saltlick, ringed her arms around his chest, and sobbed, "Shol Tchik! Shol Tchik!"

It could only be his mother. I realised belatedly that those words the giantesses kept saying must be Saltlick's true name, which Moaradrid's men had mispronounced. Saltlick didn't hesitate this time to return the show of affection. He clung to her as if his life depended on it, and both their faces were soon streaked and grubby with tears.

This was what he'd struggled for: his place, his people and his family. A sudden sadness knotted my throat. I had none of those things. Still, in that moment, I understood perfectly.

With that insight, a new thought occurred to me. I drew out the giant-stone and held it up.

"Saltlick," I called. "You need to take this now."

Saltlick looked at me, with surprise at first and then with horror.

"I know, I know, you're not good enough. Well, I'm not an expert on giant politics, but you seem popular at least. So maybe you can just be the stand-in chief until someone better comes along." I pointed. "Either way, that staff isn't going to mend itself."

I could see he was about to protest again; but the nearby giants had seen the stone by then, and suddenly the air was filled with deafening, delighted cries.

"Saltlick… take it." I had to shout to make myself heard. "Mend the staff. Make things right."

Saltlick gave the barest nod. He reached down and plucked the giant stone from my hands.

Abruptly, a cry went up from every corner of the square: "Shol Tchik! Shol Tchik!"

He walked with slow steps to the centre of the clearing. He lifted the staff with one hand, holding it as gently as if it were a sleeping baby, and with the other pressed the stone into the clasp. Then he closed his fist around both stone and clasp and squeezed. When he took his hand away, the staff was whole again.

The resultant cheer was so thunderous that I thought my eardrums would explode. When Saltlick reached out to put the staff back on its perch, the wail of protest was if anything louder. He hesitated. Then he drew it back, planted its base in the ground before him, and bowed his head. Every giant fell silent, so suddenly that it seemed all sound had been sucked from the world. As one, they dipped their heads, just as Saltlick had done.

If there was more to the inauguration ceremony, I never saw it, because at that moment, a shout rang from the edge of the clearing behind us. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I recognised the giantess who'd opened the gate for us. She beckoned to Saltlick, cried his name, and rattled off a sentence in giantish. Then she turned and pointed back the way we'd come.

Saltlick hesitated for just an instant, his eyes flickering over those gathered around him. Then he began to run, still clutching the staff.

"What? What is it?" I cried as he bolted past.

When he didn't answer, I fell in behind him, and Estrada followed us both. We charged out of the clearing, Saltlick gaining distance with each stride. I had no idea what the giantess had said, but the sinking sensation in my stomach gave me a fair idea of her meaning. I ran with all my strength, until my muscles shrieked with pain. I ran on and on, past the blur of endless trees, past the banner-walls, out through the suburbs of the giant settlement.

By the time I caught Saltlick, we were in sight of the gate. He'd stopped at the base of the embankment and stood with his head cocked to one side. I came to a stumbling halt and hunched over with my hands on my thighs, gasping for breath. Estrada, arriving next to me, just barely managed to keep to her feet.

At first, I couldn't make out anything over the sound of my own heartbeat pummelling my ears. Then, as the drumming subsided, I heard it. The shout was faint, distorted by distance. For all that, my blood turned to frost in my veins.

"Giant! Thief!"

It crossed my mind simply to ignore him. He was outside and we were safe inside, so why shouldn't things stay that way indefinitely? But if Moaradrid had come here, it stood to reason he had the means to make us listen to whatever he had to say.

"We're here," I cried, as loudly as I could bear.

"I have someone here who needs your help. A certain guard-captain of your acquaintance."

Estrada put a hand to her mouth and made a small, choked sound.

"This bridge clearly wasn't intended for cripples, so you may wish to hurry."

"Oh no." Her eyes met mine. "Damasco…"

I thought about pointing out how much Alvantes hated me, and how I didn't feel much more warmly toward him. I thought about pointing out that we'd won, that I'd done what I came to do, and couldn't we just leave it at that? I thought about a lot of things, but none of them did anything to change the look in her eyes — the desperation, the pleading, and behind all that, the faint glimmer of hope.

"He's going to want the stone," I said to Saltlick. "He'll try and trade Alvantes's life for it. Maybe I could bluff him, or keep him talking while…"

Saltlick reached up and tore the giant-stone free of its clasp.

"Oh. That would work, too."

He took a stride towards the gate.

I darted in front of him. "Wait, wait! Let me. He'll want it to be me. And let's face it; you're not exactly built for rescue missions on narrow rock bridges. It has to be me, Saltlick."

Saltlick considered for a moment. Then he reached down and handed me the stone.

"We'll get it back."

I knew it wasn't true. I could see in his eyes that he knew too: that he'd brought hope to his people only to snatch it away again. My witless attempts to help had only made things worse. I decided that overall it might be easier to have my head lopped off by Moaradrid — easier at least than having to see the results of more of my mistakes. I turned and hurried up the bank.

Saltlick bounded ahead, caught hold of the rope and began to hoist the gate open. As soon as there was a gap, I ducked and slithered through. I sprinted through the crevasse and came out on the other side, to the narrow outcrop that met the rock span. I saw Moaradrid. I saw his men. I saw Alvantes, and my heart sank.

He waited just in front of the warlord at the dead centre of the bridge. A half-hearted attempt had been made to bind and strap his mutilated arm, but it was largely defeated by the coils of rope that bound him shoulder to wrist.

He was barely recognisable as the man I'd once found so formidable. His skin was sickly-pale, he was dishevelled and dirty, and only the way he held himself upright despite obvious pain and exhaustion hinted at his former strength.

Moaradrid too appeared tired, and though his leg wound was better bandaged, the linens were pinkstained, and he stood uncomfortably. Even his men, waiting on the far mountainside, looked worn out.

Moaradrid acknowledged me with a curt inclination of the head. "There you are."

I stepped onto the beginning of the bridge.

"Here I am."

"Are you prepared to get this over with?"

I took a couple more steps. I heard Saltlick arrive on the outcrop behind me, and felt an urge to say something, anything, to delay the moment when I dashed his hopes for good.

"You won't win, Moaradrid."

He was smiling, but the smile seemed frozen in place. There was no trace of it in his voice as he said, "Stupid little thief. No understanding of anything bigger than yourself. Of course I'll win. What's more, I'll be a good king. Far better than that oaf in Pasaeda."

I took another step. "Let him go."

Moaradrid gave Alvantes a nudge that made him stumble towards the edge. "Please. Choose your words with a little care."

"I mean… it's me you want. Me and the stone."

"My stone. Yes, I'd like that back. You I care little for. Though maybe if you were dead you'd finally learn to keep out of my business."

"I'll bring it to you."

"And quickly, please. I think your friend is getting dizzy."

I gulped, tried to keep my voice steady. "I can see that. So once he's safe on our side, you can have it."

Moaradrid's smile dissolved. "What do you think is happening here, you ridiculous mooncalf? Have I come all this way to haggle like a market trader?" Abruptly, he caught hold of the rope behind Alvantes's shoulders and shoved him to the very brink, so that only Moaradrid's grip kept him from tumbling into the ether. "Be careful, thief. Irritation makes me careless."

I took out the giant-stone, held it out over the edge. "I have a similar problem. Only in my case, it's blind terror and vertigo."

There was that smile again. Then, with cat-like fluidity, Moaradrid drew Alvantes back to the centre of the span and gave him a light push, as of encouragement, towards our side. "You've been paying attention after all. Have your guard-captain then. He's a fair trade for a crown."

Alvantes started towards me, and with each shambling step I feared he'd topple over the edge. I doubted very much that they'd fed him or given him water since the battle, and that combined with blood loss had left him on the very point of collapse. Alvantes might be a pompous ass, but I knew in my heart he was a decent man, and it appalled me to see how he'd been treated.

It struck me that I truly wanted to hurt Moaradrid, as he'd hurt Alvantes, Panchetto, Saltlick, Estrada and so many others.

Yet what hope was there of that?

I began walking.

There was barely room for Alvantes and me to pass each other. He looked round at the last moment. Though his face was knotted with pain, his voice was perfectly calm when he spoke. "Don't let him win, Damasco."

"I don't think I can stop him."

Alvantes gave me one last glance and stumbled on, towards where Saltlick and Estrada waited. Saltlick would look after them, far better than I could. Stone or no, he'd protect them — I had to believe that. I didn't dare look at them, for fear my resolve would evaporate entirely.

Instead, I kept walking.

I'd half-expected Moaradrid to scythe my head from my shoulders the moment I came close enough. I was a little surprised when he simply held out an upturned hand. His sword hung at his side.

I could fight…

I could wrestle him, force him over the edge…

I placed the stone in his palm.

In that split second, I felt nothing but relief. All I'd done since I first set eyes on it was run, and I was tired out with running. Moaradrid allowed himself a shuddering sigh, as if he too was briefly overcome. Then he drew himself together, held his head high to glare down at me.

"So our business is done."

I had to ask, for all I knew I shouldn't. "Isn't this the part where you kill me?"

He laughed. "I thought you were starting to understand. No, thief, I'm not going to kill you. That's not how power works."

I nodded, as though I had the faintest idea what he meant. "Well, then."

I turned away. Of course I didn't believe him. Of course I expected a scimitar between my shoulder blades. But what could I do? Though I wanted to run, I didn't. There'd been a sense of sympathy between us, almost an understanding. Even if it only existed in Moaradrid's insane mind, it might still last, if only I kept calm. If I ran, I knew he'd change his mind.

So I placed one foot ahead of the other.

I walked across that sliver of rock, hardly daring to breathe.

And I stepped onto solid ground.

Alvantes was sat on a shelf of rock, while Estrada tried hopelessly to unpick the ropes that bound him with only her fingers. Alvantes, for his part, was struggling not to wince every time the slightest impact jolted his mutilated arm. I guessed he'd live, so long as the wound wasn't infected. Saltlick stood a little to one side, still holding the disfigured staff, and though he must have been devastated by the loss of the chiefstone, he didn't show it.

Our fight for the Castoval, for the safety of the giants, was over. We'd lost, and Moaradrid had won. But at least we were all alive, and that was a better outcome than I'd expected.

Of course, the day wasn't over yet.

"Giant."

The word rang out clearly behind me.

"Giant, pick up your friend there and choke him to death."

Saltlick jerked to attention. He gazed over my head to where Moaradrid still stood, stone held high in one hand, the other pointing towards me. Saltlick's eyes grew wide, his mouth hung slightly open, as though someone had slapped him.

"I know you heard me. Obey your chieftain."

Saltlick took a laboured step towards me.

" Obey your chieftain."

I wanted to back away. I knew there was nothing behind me except a very long fall.

"Saltlick…"

One moment his hand hung at his side, the next it was around my throat. I hadn't even time for a last breath. My lungs heaved in my chest. Pinpricks of light exploded, a waterfall of sound cascaded through my ears. Through it, dimly, I heard Estrada's voice. "Saltlick, oh no, you don't have to, you don't have to listen to him, not after everything…"

The words continued. It was too much trouble separating them from the sluice of noise. Why listen when Saltlick wasn't? He'd been told to kill me. Killing me was what he was doing.

Only he wasn't. Not quite.

He was strong enough to crush my throat like a bundle of dry twigs. Yet I was alive. It hurt beyond imagination, but I was alive. Maybe Saltlick was having trouble after all — just as when he'd resisted me in Altapasaeda.

Except that in Altapasaeda, he'd given in.

Moaradrid's voice pushed through Estrada's pleading and the roaring surf. "Once that's done, you can round up your women and children."

The pressure relaxed, just fractionally.

"I was merciful before."

I sucked air into scorched lungs.

"Maybe your friends will be more committed with them in tow."

And suddenly, I was free. I lay still, panting like a sick dog. Saltlick was staring past me once again. There was an expression on his face I'd never seen before. It was like the look of someone waking from a deep sleep, but with something terrible behind it, something fierce and sad.

"Bad chief."

Moaradrid looked taken aback for the first time. "What does that matter?"

Saltlick's first stride carried him onto the rock bridge. "Bad order." He moved with the slow inevitability of an avalanche.

"It doesn't matter. I have your stupid stone!"

"Bad chief."

" It doesn't matter!"

But it did.

I couldn't guess at what was going through Moaradrid's mind. He looked more stunned than afraid. Saltlick reached out with one huge hand. Moaradrid stepped back, raising his arms to shield himself.

I wanted to cry out, " He just wants the stone!" The words fell in a gurgle from my crushed throat. Moaradrid drew back. Saltlick moved forward. It seemed very slow and precise, like a dance: Moaradrid back, Saltlick forward, Moaradrid back.

Until there was nothing left beneath him.

I saw him realise. I watched the knowledge light his face like a beacon fire. Saltlick saw too. He reached out. Moaradrid, even in the moment of falling, pulled away.

There was nowhere to go but down.

He didn't scream, exactly. But he did cry out. It was a guttural, animal noise, something wrenched from the darkness inside him.

It seemed to last for a very long time.