Giants

CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Beach

Lord Uriah called a halt beside a muddy spring. It was hot, and the horses were tired.

After waiting his turn, Joash used his silk cloth to filter out the worst of the mud. He lugged the water to Herrek’s new horse-team. For most of the day he’d kept a sharp lookout for sabertooths, or for a flash of reflected sunlight that meant an armored giant or First Born. He’d seen gorgeous orange poppies, and a field of dandelions where plump rabbits nibbled. With his sling he’d bagged two. After hobbling the horses in a pasture of lush grass, he skinned the rabbits and put the meat on skewers. Amery brought coals from Lord Uriah’s fire, while Beker tossed dry bison-chips that he’d collected during the march. Three pots of tea began to boil and the rabbits sizzled. Joash cut up day-old meat for Othniel’s hounds. The big brutes gobbled the meat and then went back to the spring for more water.

The chores helped calm Joash’s thoughts. Seraphs, giants, and First Born who controlled sabertooths, it was all very daunting. He wanted to forget about trolocks, the lichs of bene elohim, and ancient weapons forged in an age of Earth-shattering wars. He was a groom, and someday, despite his leanness, he wanted to become a charioteer.

Joash rubbed his nose, wondering how Harn was doing, and then he wondered about Nestor. Would Nestor continue to be Herrek’s groom when his leg healed? Or would Nestor also step up in rank and become a warrior? Nestor’s bold drawing of his sword when the yellow-fanged sabertooth had attacked could be enough to propel him into warrior-hood.

“Here now,” Othniel said, “quit staring at the flames or you’ll burn the rabbits.”

Joash grinned sheepishly, giving the spits a turn. The rabbits smelled good. His mouth watered in anticipation.

“Wonder which beach we’ll use,” Karim said, sitting at the fire.

Joash cocked an ear, but was sidetracked when Amery nudged him.

“Bet you don’t get to eat any of your rabbits,” she whispered. She ran off to Lord Uriah’s fire, where Adah and the standard-bearer sat.

Joash frowned. He wondered if Adah was avoiding him, and he frowned because he knew that Amery was probably right. Too bad he hadn’t been able to bag one more rabbit. Actually, that he’d gotten one, let alone two, had made him feel good. His slinging had improved. Ever since the incident with the hyenas his confidence with the sling had soared. Confidence seemed more important than closing one eye and aiming, or trying to remember what the Massa slave had said about releasing one string at precisely the right moment. It wasn’t a confidence that he could manufacture, either. It had to be a gut-level feeling. After saving Harn and himself from the hyenas, he just knew he could hit what he aimed at. Now when he missed, it didn’t shatter his confidence like it used to. He just shrugged and tried again. Two rabbits had been the result.

“Are they ready yet?” shaggy-bearded Karim asked.

Joash eyed the meat. He turned one spit and listened to drops of fat sizzle from the other. “Soon, Warrior.”

“How did you slay them?” Karim asked. “With a javelin?”

Joash shook his head.

“Well how in the—

”—They’re ready,” Joash said. He took the spits, and with his knife he pushed the mouth-watering meat onto a white cloth.

Karim frowned for only a moment. Then he stabbed a piece after Herrek and Othniel had. Gens took a piece next, and after him the other two drivers.

“Tasty,” Karim said, with grease staining his lips. He glanced at the cloth. All the cooked rabbit was gone. He tore off a chunk. “Here, you should at least taste your own handiwork.”

The kindness surprised Joash. He thanked the red-bearded warrior and gobbled the tidbit. It was tasty. Now, more than ever, he wished he’d bagged three, instead of just two rabbits.

“Your new groom’s a good forager,” Karim said, as he wiped his hands on his leathers.

Herrek nodded.

“How’d you do it?” Karim asked. “Surely not with your new spear.”

“No, Warrior.”

“Well?” Karim asked, his voice rising.

“A sling.”

Karim’s bushy red eyebrows rose. So did Othniel’s blond ones.

“A handy tool, that sling,” Gens said before anyone could chide Joash about using Shurite weaponry.

Othniel grunted, while Karim scratched his bristly chin. At last, he said, “Yes, a good forager’s tool, I suppose. But don’t be thinking it will save you in a fight. Learn to cast your spear with skill. Only then will you become a warrior.”

Joash nodded, amazed they didn’t laugh at him. Then again, maybe warm rabbit in the belly was hard to argue with.

Soon Joash was up. He brushed the horses, checked their hooves, inspected the chariot, and found a worn pin in the yoke. He replaced the pin with a new one, dabbed some grease onto the wheels, and tapped a nail down that held the leather tire in place. He studied the dogs next. They panted, but each seemed content. With all that done, he went to the fire where the warriors talked and lay down to rest. It seemed that only a moment later the word was given to move out. Joash rubbed his eyes and harnessed the team. Only when all was ready did the warriors finally bestir themselves. They belted their swords, picked up their helmets, and climbed aboard their vehicles.

The advance continued, with scouts fanning out to check for ambushes. An hour later, a chariot careened back. “Sabertooths!” the warrior roared. Herrek led the squad that went to investigate. Joash stayed behind, taking his place with Herrek’s new hounds. Soon, Herrek returned. The scouts had just seen a local pride. The huge beasts lay in the shade of a big boulder, not even stirring when the entire company wheeled past.

The day wore on. Finally, Herrek took his turn as a scout. Othniel joined him. It was several hours before dusk, and the consensus was that the beach was still two hours of stiff marching away.

“Sooner or later, Tarag will know we survived,” Joash told Herrek.

“True enough.”

Gens flicked the reins. The horses broke into a trot. Alongside, the dogs kept pace. Joash, who had climbed aboard at Herrek’s command, hung onto the railing. It was a tight fit aboard the chariot, but now that he was a groom, he would, from time to time, be allowed this privilege.

They left the company behind, with Othniel about fifty yards to the right. Together they entered a zone of thistles and bur-bearing grasses. Joash groaned inwardly. At the next rest stop he’d be busy picking burs out of horse and dog-hides, and thorns out of the paws of the hounds. They passed a grove of trees and a field of chariot-sized boulders, and came upon the rut of a dry riverbed. It slowed the chariots as the drivers eased their vehicles in and out of it. In the distance stood a tall field of stalks, and a slow walking herd of steppe ponies. Somewhere beyond the horses lay the beach and the green Suttung Sea.

Herrek gave an order.

Joash jumped down and whistled for the dogs. They trotted over. He took up a position halfway between Herrek and Othniel’s chariots. Joash’s stomach tightened at the thought of being in the most exposed position. Tarag surely must know by now that his sabertooths had failed. Would the First Born return to slay them? Joash hoped not, but he kept a sharp eye out for sabertooths.

Not much later one of the dogs, a big brown one, swiveled his wedge-shaped head from side to side. He smelled or heard something. Two other hounds trotted toward the first one. The white-headed hound tested the air again. The wind shifted, however.

Joash readied his spear. Should he call Herrek or investigate this? He didn’t want to stumble onto sabertooths by himself. He whistled to the dogs. They looked at him.

“Come here.”

Dutifully they did. Then, surrounded by five big hounds, he cautiously moved in the direction that the white-headed dog had headed. One of the hounds barked at a thick clump of thistles. Joash froze. He saw a thistle frond shift. It moved in the opposite direction as the wind. For a sick instant, he was certain a sabertooth was going to bound out of hiding.

Herrek shouted.

Joash didn’t hear the warrior’s words, although he recognized the tone of command. A whip snapped and horses whinnied. With a quick glance over his shoulder Joash saw the chariot surge toward him. Another dog barked at the thick clump of thistles. The hackles rose on the other hounds. Joash aimed the spear at the thistles, but didn’t advance.

He saw movement. His gut clenched. He was about to give the attack order when out from behind the thistles rose a nearly naked man. Joash stared in amazement. The man was shorter than he was, but was incredibly stocky, almost misshapen with his thick, crooked limbs. The man had massive shoulders, and long arms knotted with muscles. A giant dwarf was Joash’s impression, a man who should have been tall and powerful, but instead, was twisted and thick, like a gnarled oak-root.

Joash rubbed his eyes.

Nothing changed. The man was beetle-browed, had a blunt nose, wide cheekbones, and a coarse swath of long black hair. From underneath the tangle, the man’s dark eyes gleamed fiercely. He wore a wolfskin loincloth and beads around his neck. Several eagle feathers dyed red at the tip had been affixed around his head. He wore no sandals or shoes, but was barefoot.

Joash could only gape. What was a Huri doing here? They were forest folk, and infested the forbidding forests that surrounded Elon. Huri and Elonites were born enemies. They had been ever since Lord Uriah cleared the plains of them. The Huri were a strange and savage race that still used stone tools. This Huri, this giant dwarf, had a scant black beard. It meant he was older, for only the older men among them could grow facial hair.

Herrek shouted again. From the other direction, Othniel roared. The dogs growled, but they hadn’t been given the attack order.

The Huri raised his heavy black bow. The notched arrow was tipped with flint. Joash saw at a glance the crude shield of hide-covered wood on the Huri’s knotted forearm, the short barbed sword at his waist, and the stone-headed mallet. Joash didn’t know the Huri’s clan, for the man wore no woad, the blue paint they usually tattooed themselves with.

“You Lord Uriah’s man?” the Huri grunted.

“Yes,” Joash said, his wonder growing.

“Hold your dogs, or I kill.”

Joash blinked. Although he was taller, the savage was heavier. On the plains, despite their heavy bows, the Huri fell before the charioteers. But in their dense forests, the tables were often turned. Many Elonites had been slain in the forests, their skins used for the war drums so loved by the Huri.

“Heel,” Joash ordered the hounds.

The hounds glanced at him with their hackles still up.

“Heel. Sit.”

Reluctantly, the dogs obeyed.

The Huri eased tension from his bow. “Tell them, I friend.”

Joash frowned. Why was a Huri here?

“I from Captain Maharbal,” the Huri said, as if reading Joash’s thoughts. “I am free-fighter with message for Lord Uriah.”

Joash understood, or thought he did. Captain Maharbal, the Further Tarsh merchant who had given them passage to Giant Land, had hired free-fighters in the past. The citizens of Further Tarsh seldom become warriors. They were too busy trading for profit. Thus aboard their ships, especially when sailing into dangerous waters, they carried a contingent of free-fighters: warriors who sold their swords to the highest bidder. Incredibly, Captain Maharbal had hired Huri.

The Huri’s blunt features hardened with determination. He pulled his bowstring, and aimed his arrow at Joash. “Speak, or die.”

The threat of death cleared Joash’s thoughts. He turned, and held up his spear. “He’s from Captain Maharbal.”

Both warriors had a spear over their shoulders and a shield before him and his driver. Both warriors looked determined as they raced at the dark-haired Huri.

“Stop!” Joash shouted, running to put himself in front of Herrek’s chariot. “He’s from Captain Maharbal.”

Gens yanked the reins. Othniel’s driver did likewise. Joash repeated his message, and it seemed that finally Herrek understood. Soon, so did Othniel, although the twist to his lips belied any peaceful intentions.

The Huri lowered his black bow. But he warily eyed the Elonites as they approached until they were less than ten yards apart.

Othniel scanned the distance. From his actions, he seemed certain an ambush was being set.

“Who are you?” Herrek asked.

“I am Sungara. I am free-fighter for Captain Maharbal. I not need to tell you, therefore, my clan or tribe.”

Joash knew Huri were proud of their clans and tribes. Perhaps Sungara was an outlaw, or an outcast. That would explain how he’d become a free-fighter. One seldom found Huri in such a position. They loved their forests and their feuds, and they loved to raid.

“Why was a Huri sent?” Othniel spat. “Does Maharbal insult us?”

Sungara glared at Othniel.

“No,” Herrek said. He eyed the stocky free-fighter. Huri, above all else, were trackers and hunters of supreme skill. They could slip into a camp like a fox. Their prowess in such matters was legendary, and their dark deeds haunted many an Elonite home.

“Something bad has happened,” Herrek said.

Sungara grunted.

“Maharbal sent a Huri because he wanted someone who could travel without being seen,” Herrek said.

“You right, chariot-man. I bring bad tidings.”

“What’s your message?” Othniel snapped.

“Is there peace between us?”

Herrek glanced at Gens, then put his spear and shield away. Herrek stepped out of the chariot and advanced on the bow-armed Huri. “Yes, there is peace between us.”

“And him?” Sungara motioned his head at Othniel.

Othniel needed only half a second. “There is peace.”

Sungara grinned and put away his bow. He spat onto his wide palm and shook Herrek’s hand. Herrek towered above Sungara, although their shoulders were as wide, which made Sungara seem thicker. The Huri was like some crude and gnarled earth-spirit in human guise, very much a creature of foliage, dirt, and the hunt for survival. He made Herrek seem polished, over-civilized.

“Take me to Lord Uriah,” Sungara said. “I bring him message.”

“Tell it to me first,” Herrek said.

“Message is bad. Lord Uriah must hear.” When Herrek said nothing more, Sungara said, “Sit then. You must sit before I give message.”

The chariots were brought near and everyone sat, even the dogs, which obeyed Joash’s command. Sungara told them about the surprise attack upon Hori Cove. He left nothing out.

Joash shivered in horror. How many Elonites would he never see again? With his broken leg, had Nestor escaped? Joash’s throat burned and his eyes stung. A hollow feeling filled him, and along with the feeling came a terrible fear of the giants, sabertooths, and Tarag. They were being hunted. The terrible ordeal was anything but over. Joash looked at the warriors. Their faces were masks. They sat rigidly.

“Giant armor is enchanted,” Sungara somberly added. “I saw Elonite swords shatter on mail. I saw own arrow bounce harmlessly off, even though I shot at close range.”

Joash glanced at Sungara’s heavy black bow. In the past, he’d heard charioteers swear fearful oaths against Huri bows. They were fearsome weapons. Because the Huri were experts at ambushes, able to hide in mere clumps of grass, they often fired their heavy bows from close range. An arrow from such a bow could pierce a shield or chainmail. Joash found it incredible that the Huri hadn’t been able to pierce giant armor. Maybe Sungara had been farther away than he’d realized.

Othniel was nodding. “I’ve heard tales of giant armor and weapons. They say in the Far North, in a smithy hidden from the sun’s light, lies the Forge of Bolverk. He knows secrets hidden from our smiths, or even those of Caphtor. In this hidden smithy Bolverk forges the grim weapons and armor of giants. Even his father, Jotnar, is said to be amazed at Bolverk’s skills.”

“Their iron is enchanted,” Sungara said again. “Their shamans are mighty.”

“Maybe,” Herrek said stiffly. “What does Captain Maharbal plan?”

“You must flee to beach. All speed must be used. Make your horses sweat, kill them if need be, but flee. Captain Maharbal is certain giants and sabertooths will come for you next.”

Joash, who had heard all his life how superstitious the Huri were, was impressed with Sungara’s factual telling of the horrible tale.

“They are terrible foes. Not even your lances will slay them. You must flee with Sungara.”

“So you’ve faced Elonites before,” Othniel said grimly, perhaps turning to something familiar rather than dwelling upon the Nephilim horror. “Where have you faced us, Huri?”

“Are you mad?” asked Gens. “Didn’t you listen? The giants have destroyed our camp. Now they hunt us.”

“I heard,” Othniel said, his stare a hard one. “And we’ll destroy them.”

Sungara swore a Huri oath. “You must flee, chariot-man.”

“Am I a Huri?” Othniel laughed, bitterly. “No, I am of Teman Clan. I will hunt giants for what they’ve done.”

Joash couldn’t believe what he heard, but then Othniel hadn’t seen Mimir or Tarag. Joash was ready to accept Sungara’s advice.

“Giants have magic,” Sungara warned. “Beasts follow them. Chariot-man a fool if he thinks he can fight giants.”

Othniel turned red and made ready to retort.

“Bite your tongue, Warrior,” Herrek said sternly.

Othniel gave Herrek a quizzical glance.

Herrek ignored it. He said to Sungara, “You will ride in my chariot. I’ll take you to Lord Uriah. You will tell him whatever extra message the Mother Protectress sent along.”

Sungara’s blunt expression didn’t shift, but Joash noticed a slight twitching of the Huri’s thick fingers. So, there was more that Sungara hadn’t said. Yes, of course. The plan of action, the choice of beaches.

As squat Sungara climbed aboard the chariot and Gens rattled away, Joash wondered what it must have been like for the Huri. He’d been slipped from a small boat and onto the steppes, onto foreign shores with grim legends. Sungara had seen what the sabertooths could do, and the giants, too. He had witnessed horrible butchery at the camp. Yet, all alone he’d come in order to give Elonites a message. Sungara must be brave, and sure of his woodcraft. Joash’s estimation of him rose.

Those thoughts fled at the thought of giants and sabertooths hunting them. Joash called the dogs more sharply than he’d wanted. Two of them put their tails between their legs and cowered, as if they’d been caught doing something bad. It had been his tone, of course. He petted those two and spoke to the others, reassuring them, calming them. He knew dogs picked up the emotions of their masters. He noticed that Othniel’s horses had also become nervous.

A half-hour later the rest of the charioteers arrived. Sungara’s tale had spread. At Lord Uriah’s command they moved at double time toward the selected beach.

Later, Adah cried out and pointed toward the east. The westering sun, with its slashing rays, glinted off something metallic. Lord Uriah called a halt. Eagle-eyed Shemul was called. The handsome driver shaded his eyes before he hissed between his teeth.

“It’s armor.”

“Sungara?” Lord Uriah asked.

The squat Huri, who had padded behind Lord Uriah’s chariot, fingered his beads as he studied the eastern horizon. He nodded. “I think driver right. Armor flashes.” He grinned at Othniel, who like Herrek stood near Lord Uriah. “I recognize armor-flashes from when I raid onto the Plains of Elon.”

Othniel didn’t have time to scowl. He, like almost everyone else, strained to pierce the riddle of the bright flashes.

“They’re still far away,” Herrek said.

Lord Uriah tapped his teeth together. At last he uncorked his ale-skin and took a swig. Around him was the chariot squadron. They’d been moving in close formation, the pace a hard one on the runners and grooms, but quite bearable for the charioteers.

“Tide is right for loading,” Sungara said.

“Yes, so you said before,” Lord Uriah said.

“How near is the beach?” Adah asked Sungara.

“Near,” the Huri said.

“The giants are too far away,” Adah said. “They’re afoot, we have chariots. It might be a tight race, but we’ve the advantage of speed.”

Lord Uriah took another swig of ale.

“Even given that a giant can move at twice the speed of a man,” Adah said, “they won’t make it to the beach until well after high tide.”

Joash stood near Herrek’s chariot and saw Gens shake his head.

Lord Uriah must have seen it, too, for he asked, “What ails you, Driver?”

“Lord,” said Gens, “those flashes have the feel of doom.”

Sungara grunted in what sounded like agreement.

Othniel snorted.

“Maybe we should send scouts,” Herrek said, “and determine the number of our foes.” He made a mailed fist. “The giants butchered Elonites. We must teach them the cost of that.”

Lord Uriah stroked his white beard. “Ours is not a combat expedition.”

Herrek squinted, as he stared east. He spat at the ground. “We cannot let the giants think we’re cowards.”

Charioteers muttered angrily in agreement.

Lord Uriah laughed. “Rather, we cannot let the giants slay us, or stop us from leaving the steppes and reporting upon what we’ve seen.”

Adah agreed.

“What if only a handful of giants approach?” Herrek asked.

“I’m certain it is only a handful,” Lord Uriah said. “But these are giants, Champion, and this is their land.”

“If we deploy our chariots on carefully chosen ground, then we can slay this handful of giants.”

Lord Uriah shook his head. Raising his voice, he addressed the entire company. “All grooms and runners will board their master’s chariot. We will move to the beach at a trot.”

Herrek muttered, as did several other proud warriors.

“Sungara will ride with you,” Lord Uriah told the champion.

“No, no,” Sungara said uneasily. “Danger is near. I trust my own feet now.”

“Nonsense. We’ll outrace you and leave you behind.”

“Sungara not think so, Lord Uriah.”

“Let’s not argue over it,” Adah said. “We’ve already stopped too long.”

Lord Uriah agreed, and the command was given. The squadron moved at a fast trot. At their heels followed the dogs.

“Something feels wrong,” Gens said.

Herrek adjusted the grip on his shield.

“Remember the sabertooth who ambushed us at the black thorns?” Gens asked. “This has that kind of feel.”

Both Herrek and Joash looked back. Armor flashed, bright and ominous, and somehow seeming closer than before.

The stocky Huri, who ran easily and swiftly, grinned at Joash. It was an odd sight. The Huri seemed too massive to run for long, but he paced easily alongside the hounds.

“Do you think we’re being herded?” Herrek asked Gens.

Gens nervously chewed his mustache.

Lord Uriah slowed the rapid pace. Maybe he, too, was suspicious.

Suddenly, Shemul shouted, “Giants!”

“What?” Lord Uriah shouted back at him.

“I see the giants now, lord, not just flashes of light.”

Charioteers craned their heads east. The westering sun threw up odd shadows. The waving grasses seemed longer than before, and the stones and boulders taller and grimmer. In time, night would shroud everything in darkness. Even so, the armor-flashing giants were visible to all.

“The giant’s are running!” Shemul shouted.

“How far can a giant run in heavy armor?” Herrek shouted to Lord Uriah. “Let us stop and deploy, and attack them when they’re weary.”

Many charioteers roared agreement.

Adah, who rode with Lord Uriah, studied the giants. Her lips were thin. She whispered into Lord Uriah’s ear. He increased the pace.

It wasn’t long before Shemul roared, “The giants move quickly, Lord. Almost as fast as horses.”

“Impossible!” shouted shaggy-bearded Karim.

Many turned pale with fear. For now, many of them could see the giants, Joash among them. The tall, armored giants sprinted. They covered the ground in huge bounds, weapons and shields in their hands. As warriors, those in the company knew that to run far in armor was extremely wearying. These giants didn’t seem to grow weary.

The chariot squadron fled down a long incline of grass. Wheels clattered over shadowed rocks. Runners yelled and hung on with a white-gripped intensity. Seven tall giants sprinted after them, although the giants were still too far off for anyone to see their features. The speed at which the giants ran was unnatural.

“Magic is at work,” Sungara said. He no longer grinned but ran with determination.

Joash knew that Sungara was right. No one should be able to sprint so hard for so long, not armored in heavy mail and bearing shields.

Lord Uriah roared a sharp command. His team broke into a gallop. The others followed close behind. Many charioteers looked back. The giants didn’t diminish, but seemed incredibly to keep pace with them.

“At least they can’t outrun us,” Gens hissed.

“We should turn and face them,” Herrek said.

“Against seven giants?” Joash asked, before he could keep his thoughts to himself.

“Better that, than be driven like cattle!” Herrek snarled.

Joash saw that Sungara had dropped behind. The Huri could pace trotting horses, but not galloping ones. The Huri must have recognized his plight, for he veered and raced away from both chariots and giants. Joash wondered if he’d ever see Sungara again.

“The sea!” roared the foremost driver.

Herrek’s chariot topped the slight crest. Joash felt his stomach lurch at the sudden upward shift. Then they rattled toward the vast Suttung Sea. They shifted to the left and raced through a field of waist-high flowers. The flowers had already closed their petals, as if averting their eyes from the spectacle. To Joash’s relief he saw the two-masted Tiras and a horse-barge working their way toward the darkening shore. Surely now it would simply be a matter of racing into the surf and swimming for it. The horses were tired, but shortly the race would be over. They’d almost won.

In that instant, as the squadron rattled through the field of flowers, monstrous sabertooths arose from hiding and charged the chariots in the flanks. Surprise was complete. The dogs were in the rear of the company, and the horses had been driven too hard for them to have sensed the danger.

“The giants have herded us into ambush!” Gens screamed. Other men cried out as they drove through the gauntlet of death. Joash saw a chariot splinter under the impact of a shaggy monster. The warrior flipped backward and landed on his head. A loud snap told of a broken neck. The driver, Shemul, screamed, as heavy claws raked his face and chest. More feral sabertooths arose. Herrek, his teeth flashing as he roared his battle cry, leaned against the rail and thrust. A sabertooth tumbled head over heels. Gens barely turned the team from another snarling beast. Joash thought to feel the hot breath as the sabertooth’s jaws clicked together less than a foot from his back. Spittle landed on his neck. He clenched his teeth as he dearly held onto the vibrating railing.

In the growing twilight, the monsters seemed larger and more powerful than normal. Joash’s knees almost gave out in fright. The dogs ran into the gauntlet and helped divert the sabertooths, but fully half the squadron disappeared under the horde of savage, silky-coated beasts. Then the ragged chariot remnant broke free and raced for the beach. Behind them, the sabertooths followed, led by a frightfully ugly brute with a scar across his snout.

Joash yearned for the sea. The small waves disappeared into the horizon, and the smell of salt was strong. Seagulls soared overhead, crying out to one another as they watched the spectacle below.

Gens shouted, “Boarding a ship while in the presence of enemies is the most difficult maneuver possible.”

Herrek nodded grimly, his bloody lance ready.

The Tiras rose and fell with the wind. Bare-chested sailors worked heavy ropes. Big oars, five to a side, moved in a slow rhythm. They sluggishly propelled the Tiras toward shore. Closer in was a wide barge, armed men milling near the prow.

“Can’t the Tarshmen move any faster?” a driver wailed.

Lord Uriah led the way. He charged into the sea. Behind him the others followed. The beasts snarled with rage, hesitant. Some of them followed, despite their hatred of getting wet. They no longer bounded with savage enthusiasm, but picked their way through the water. Each time a wave washed against them, the sabertooths snarled.

Herrek shouted encouragement. “The advantage is ours. Look how only our feet are wet while the beasts’ are drenched. In our chariots we’re drier than they.” The Champion heaved javelins at the floundering sabertooths.

Others took heart, and followed his example. The sabertooths, baffled for the moment, retreated from the sea.

Elonites cheered.

“What now, Lord?” Herrek shouted.

Along with many others, Lord Uriah watched the sabertooths retreat to shore. The beasts padded up and down it, perhaps working themselves into a killing rage in order to try again. Joash turned seaward. The barge moved close to shore. Tall Elonites, with shields and spears, and small sailors with barbed darts and long knives, swarmed in readiness. Several rowboats packed with Huri had been launched from the Tiras, which stayed farther out because of its size.

The Tiras wasn’t a small coastal trader, but a big merchantman, used for city-to-city trade. Only the grain ships of Nearer Tarsh were larger. A wooden and decked-over cabin rose in the back third of the Tiras. Built directly above the bow was a small forecastle. In the forecastle were sailors and a dart-throwing catapult.

Lord Uriah roared, “Grooms and runners, wade out to the barge!”

Joash jumped off the chariot and into the chilly sea. The bottom was sandy. He waded and saw seaweed drifting toward him. A wave slapped him in the face, and he tasted salt. Then, he no longer felt the bottom and had to swim. Soon, strong hands helped him onto the barge. Sailors rowed awkward oars, bringing the flat-bottomed vessel toward shore. Adah shivered beside him, and then so did Amery, Beker, and several others.

In the distance came the sound of a horn. It wasn’t a ringing trumpet blast, like Elonite horns, but a flat and ominous sound. More horns blared. The giants neared. Then, a terrible sight filled the humans with dread. Seven giants topped the rise and ran clanking toward the sea. They stopped upon seeing the Tiras and the chariots in the water.

A driver groaned in fear, and then said hoarsely, “I see Ygg the Terrible.”

“Ah, we’re doomed,” cried another man. “Gaut Windrunner stands with them.”

“I see Motsognir Stone Hands.”

The giants glistened with sweat, and their chests heaved. Each towering Nephilim was different from the other. Motsognir Stone Hands had mighty bronze wristlets that glinted in the waning sunlight. Ygg the Terrible wore a horned helmet, and he had plaited his long dark hair into five strands. He wore a necklace of human skulls. Black-bearded Mimir lifted his axe and pointed it at the Tiras. He spoke to the others. They nodded. Ymir, a one-eyed giant, wiped his face with a cloth that could have been a man’s cloak. Mimir spoke again sharply. The others lifted their weapons. Ygg the Terrible ran forward and heaved his spear into the air. It soared high above the chariots and over the barge.

As the spear sailed, Ygg roared, “FATHER JOTNAR POSSESSES YOU ALL!”

Joash shivered, as if icy water splashed against his face. The barge-rowers groaned with fear. The charioteers moaned and seemed to wilt as a plucked flower left in the sun’s blaze. Many of the warriors turned away from Ygg, as if he’d become too awful to look on.

Had the giant cast a spell? It seemed colder, the waning sunlight less bright. The warriors around Joash moved sluggishly, as if already defeated. Only those nearest him still had some spirit left.

The fearsome, legendary giants roared and charged toward the beach. The sabertooths, led by the scarred champion, snarled and launched themselves back into the water.

“Heave!” Herrek shouted. Heavy spears rose unevenly and fell among the sabertooths. The savage brutes pulled up short.

“Drive for the barge!” Lord Uriah cried.

The charioteers needed no more urging. They drove headlong toward the nearing barge, even though it was still too deep for them to drive the entire way.

The sabertooths charged anew, the giants following close behind. The Huri in the launches, who had drawn closer, let their flint-tipped arrows fly. Sabertooths roared with painful rage. More arrows flew. The sabertooths, hating the water and the sharp-hurting stings, retreated once more. The giants didn’t. They ran past the beasts and splashed into the green sea.

“For Father Jotnar!” the giants roared, although they sounded winded. Titanic spears flew. Huri screamed, a fistful of them swept from the nearest boat. The sailors on the barge quit rowing. A catapult dart whizzed from the Tiras. It missed Ymir by a foot.

Ygg the Terrible plucked a skull from his necklace and hurled it at the barge. Joash saw that the skull had gems in the eye sockets. The skull landed in the middle of the barge with a thud, as if it was much heavier than it possibly could be. A sinister green vapor billowed out of it. Whomever the vapor touched dropped dead, without a gasp or a groan. With a cry of fear Joash ran, jumped overboard, and swam toward a boat. He saw Adah swim toward the distant Tarsh ship. The rowers in the closer boat helped Joash in.

Joash saw the plight of the now-floundering charioteers.

Lord Uriah solved the puzzle. He leaped over the front railing and stood on the pole between his two stallions. With his sword he freed the horses. They swam at his urging. He jumped and grabbed the mane of one. The horse swam toward the Tiras, dragging the armor-weighed Lord Uriah along.

Other charioteers did likewise, although not all. A thrown spear slew red-bearded Karim and the horse he hung onto. Another charioteer lost his grip, and because of the heavy armor drowned, although the stallions kept swimming.

“Lord Uriah!” roared Mimir, hip-deep in water.

Lord Uriah craned back, his sword in one hand, the horse’s mane in the other. He was in deep water, well away from the giants. The horse valiantly struggled.

Mimir heaved his spear. Lord Uriah judged the cast. He let go of the mane, and like a stone sank out of sight. The horse screamed. Then it sank, dragged down by Mimir’s spear.

Joash couldn’t believe it. He stared at the spot where Lord Uriah had gone down. After more than five hundred years of life, could the Patriarch of Elon and Shur at last be dead? A moment later, Joash cheered. Lord Uriah bobbed up, minus his armor. Somehow, the old warrior had cunningly divested himself of it.

Mimir roared, “You sly old fox!” He waded, axe in hand, toward those charioteers still in the shallows.

Joash saw that in their armor the remaining charioteers would never be able to outmaneuver nor outrun the giants. Strangely, none of the charioteers had stayed aboard their chariots. They all looked sick with dread and fear, as if hexed. The thought of a magic that dulled a warrior enraged Joash. A deep hatred welled from, until now, a hidden source. It wasn’t right that the warriors of Elon be butchered like sheep. He had to do something! The anger melted his terror, enough so he could act. “Help me pick up the warriors!” Joash shouted at the rowers.

They stared at the terrible giants who waded ever closer. The sailor at the tiller shook his shaven head.

Hardly daring to believe what he did, Joash advanced upon the sailor at the tiller. “Pick up warriors!” he shouted, brandishing a knife. The rowers reached out and tripped him. He went down, his chin striking a wet wooden rib. The knife was pried from his fingers. “You must rescue the warriors,” Joash wailed from beneath a rower.

Someone gave a sharp order. The rowers let Joash up, although they didn’t give him his knife.

“If you don’t pick up the warriors they’ll all be killed,” he said.

The shaven-headed sailor at the tiller nodded curtly. To the terrified groans of the rowers, he ordered them toward shore.

Joash rose. He witnessed a horrible scene.

Motsognir Stone Hands swept his axe and smashed through the shield, armor, and into the ribs of Othniel. The warrior gritted his teeth in pain. Motsognir wrenched out his Bolverk-made axe, which hadn’t even been notched by the blow. So, too, did he wrench out Othniel’s spirit from his body. Because of the weight of Othniel’s armor, the dead warrior sank below the waves.

The other charioteers wailed in fear and misery. They struggled neck-deep toward the now-empty barge, although the weird green fog upon it looked deadly. The waves made things difficult. Many charioteers cried out in terror as a wave washed over their heads.

“Herrek!” Joash shouted. “This way.”

With his helmet gone and his red hair soaked, Herrek saw the boat and Joash. He slipped off his shield and waded toward Joash’s boat. Other warriors followed the Champion’s example. Behind them, the giants boomed vile insults.

Two giants waded toward Joash’s boat, each holding an axe. They looked mighty, indomitable. The red-bearded giant was Gaut Windrunner, and the other was Mimir the Wise.

Joash hopelessly raised his spear. “Faster!” he shouted. The rowers pulled faster. Then, charioteers cried out in joy. Like leather-wrapped hammers, their gloved hands fell onto the sides of the boat. Herrek was one of them. He panted from exhaustion. The charioteers were too tired to climb into the boat.

“Back up!” Joash shouted at the rowers.

The rowers obeyed. With so much dead weight, however, the boat responded sluggishly.

Gaut Windrunner laughed. He was close.

“Faster!” Joash screamed.

Herrek gritted his teeth and his eyes flashed terribly. He looked up at Joash. Joash almost recoiled from him. Herrek’s eyes blazed with savage will.

“Help me,” Herrek hissed.

Joash grabbed Herrek’s wet arm. But the Champion was heavy. Armored charioteers beside Herrek yelled in fear as the boat tipped dangerously low to the water.

“No!” a rower howled at Joash.

“Pull,” Herrek said.

Joash pulled, and Herrek flopped into the boat. He rose and picked up Joash’s spear. The effort had slowed the boat’s escape.

Gaut Windrunner held his monstrous axe by the haft and reached out with his strong right arm. Emmal, of the famed hunting kennels, screamed as he held onto the boat’s prow. The axe sheered through his shoulders. Emmal let go of the boat and sank out of sight, bubbles and blood staining the water like oil.

“Guide me, Elohim,” Herrek whispered. Water sloshed around his feet, and the wood creaked. A wave made the boat lurch up, and then down. Herrek faked a throw as the wave washed toward Gaut. The red-bearded giant laughed again, raising his shield. The wave washed up against Gaut Windrunner’s chest, no doubt throwing saltwater into his face. Only then did Herrek reach back. He threw while Gaut’s shield was up. Gaut Windrunner lowered his shield. A look of surprise appeared on the giant’s face. Shock exchanged places with surprise. Gaut Windrunner, the spear stuck in his throat, stared at Herrek. The giant toppled backward, underwater, and out of sight.

The other giants, Mimir included, roared with rage and marked Herrek with their eyes.

The boat backed up, while another spear was put into Herrek’s hands.

The evil giant Ygg the Terrible plucked another jeweled skull from his necklace. He reached back with his arm to hurl the skull at the Tiras. A dart from the ship’s catapult arced the distance and brutally struck him in the shoulder, staggering the giant. He didn’t go down, but Ygg dropped the skull into the water. The water hissed and boiled around him, and Ygg hurriedly waded away as green vapors rose.

Joash’s boat entered deep water and followed the Tiras out to sea, picking up Adah along the way. Giant heaved boulders splashed into the water, raining droplets, but the shaven-headed sailor at the tiller was clever. He dodged each thrown rock. The Tiras was struck several times before it escaped the terrible shore and moved toward the deep sea.

Finally, after a grueling journey the lone boat reached the Tiras and safety. They had escaped Giant Land.