Giants

CHAPTER FOUR Lord Uriah

“…Joash,” a man whispered.

Joash mumbled in his sleep.

“Joash, get up.”

Joash opened bleary eyes. He saw Herrek, with a lamp in his hand.

Several hours ago, Joash had arrived at the seaside camp, the ancient pile of stones. He’d given Herrek his tale, seen Harn taken to Zillith’s sod house, had promptly staggered to the Warrior Barracks, and fallen asleep.

“What’s wrong?” Joash asked.

“Lord Uriah wishes to speak to you,” Herrek said.

Joash arose, quickly tying his sandals. No other people were up in the Warrior Barracks. The hearth-fire was only a mound of glowing coals. Outside, by the height of the moon, Joash saw that he’d gotten two hours sleep. This was the sleepiest time of the night, the perfect moment for an attacker to make his move. He wondered if Mimir would really try to attack the camp by himself. He might. He was a giant after all.

“Has Elidad returned?” Joash asked.

“No.” Herrek nodded to the guard at Lord Uriah’s door. Joash ducked his head, stepped downstairs and into the soil-smelling gloom. Leather curtains partitioned the small sod house. Behind the farthest curtain, the edges of the leather glowed red. Herrek cleared his throat.

“Enter,” said a deep voice from behind the curtain.

Joash swallowed, and followed Herrek into Lord Uriah’s bedroom. It was small, with a wooden-frame bed, two beautifully carved sea chests, and a table with a flickering candle. The room smelled of whetstone oil and ale, and at Lord Uriah’s feet curled a white-nosed hunting dog. Lord Uriah sat in a wooden chair. He was a big man, although not as tall or as broad as Herrek. He had blue eyes and a closely cropped white beard. His skin was leathery-tough, but only slightly wrinkled, and he kept himself wrapped in a white cloak. In the bronze brazier before him coals glowed. Although he was old, somewhat over five hundred years, Lord Uriah came from the longest-lived line of humans. As it had been in the beginning at the Garden, so it still was with certain bloodlines.

Without looking up, Lord Uriah nodded solemnly, and sipped ale from his golden horn.

Herrek sat in the room’s only other chair, one without armrests. Joash sat cross-legged on a rug, near the sleeping dog.

“I am uneasy,” Lord Uriah said. He used a stick and poked the coals in his brazier. “I wonder upon Elohim’s ways.”

Lord Uriah had big hands, a warrior’s hands, as if made to wield weapons. He had long, thick fingers like Herrek. The right was wet from dipping the horn into the beer vat. The fourth finger was missing from the second joint up. The middle finger bore a large brass ring, engraved with the head of a Gyr Falcon—Lord Uriah’s totem.

Joash wasn’t certain, but from the redness of Lord Uriah’s eyes, and the way he cocked his head, he almost thought the patriarch drunk. Surely that couldn’t be. It wasn’t that Lord Uriah was above ale, but he seemed so solemn now, so intent upon finding Elohim’s guidance.

“Steppe stallions have been lost,” Lord Uriah said slowly. “They were prized stallions young enough to be trained to the harness. We can ill-afford such losses, for soon the ships will take us home.”

Herrek nodded, but respectfully kept silent.

Joash understood why the stallion losses were so bitter. Wild steppe ponies were difficult to break to the harness. Most never could be, becoming breeding stock instead. Only a few could be properly broken, usually the younger ones. They could learn to pull a chariot and to follow the chariot driver’s instructions. Among wild steppe ponies, mares learned better than stallions. But no warrior would harness mares to his battle-cart, because all the other warriors used stallions. Mares would shy away from battle-frenzied stallions. Therefore, for Lord Uriah’s special needs, young stallions were the prized catch. Young enough to be trained, but old enough to enter battle several months from now.

“Drink,” Lord Uriah told Herrek, thrusting the horn at him.

Herrek sipped, and then he handed the golden horn back to his great, great grandfather.

“You sip rather than gulp, warrior. Why?”

“Soon I must search for Elidad, as we agreed.”

Lord Uriah nodded sagely, his bleary eyes riveted upon Herrek. “And I gulp because Elidad has headed north, and a giant has been seen.” The Patriarch’s head moved abruptly, and he stared at Joash.

Joash tried to look obedient as he stared at the dog.

“Look at me, runner.”

Joash did. The Patriarch measured him. Joash looked away from those bleary, yet wise-seeming, eyes.

“What duty did I lay upon you today, runner?”

Joash tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “To make sure no harm comes to Harn, lord.”

“Or instructions to that effect, yes?”

“Yes, lord.”

“But Harn fought a sabertooth.”

Joash hung his head.

“Should you have leashed him?” Lord Uriah asked, gravely.

Joash frowned. “I suppose so, Lord.”

“But the sabertooth surprised you. Still, you could have grabbed Harn by the scruff of the neck. Why did you fail to even do that?”

“I was not swift enough, Lord. I should have realized when the sabertooth appeared… I failed then, lord. I should have grabbed Harn by the scruff of the neck then.”

“How then would you have defended yourself?”

“I would have managed, Lord.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“Forgive me, Lord,” Joash whispered.

Lord Uriah nodded. “Tell me the truth now. How would you have defended yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“And neither do I,” Lord Uriah said, as if that closed the matter. “Now, you spoke with a giant tonight. Tell me what occurred.”

Joash had been waiting for this. Carefully, trying to retell each word as it had been spoken, he told Lord Uriah about Mimir. When Joash was finished, Lord Uriah thoughtfully poked the glowing coals.

“Did I do wrong to say what I did?” Joash asked.

“Who can know? Mimir could have slain you at any time, yet you charmed him. I am surprised by that.”

“Lord?” Joash dared ask.

Lord Uriah nodded for him to speak.

“Mimir spoke as if he knew you.”

“We’ve met before. I was young then, not much older than you are now.”

“Will Mimir truly attack the camp?” Herrek asked.

Lord Uriah appeared not to hear the question. He sipped ale, and said softly, “Joash charmed him. Mimir used his gift upon him, and was ready to kidnap Joash because of what he saw.”

“What did he do to me?” Joash asked, certain a spell had been put upon him.

“He searched you. He looked at your mettle. What he saw both impressed and worried him.”

“How can you know that?” Joash asked in awe.

“I know because I know giants. I know because I know what Mimir’s gift is. He sees the spirit of a man, if he wishes to. He sees the height of a man’s flame, of his passion, of his daring. I think he wished to make you his body servant.”

“B-but why would he wish to do that, lord?”

“I’m uncertain. He believes, however, that your paths will cross again.”

“I don’t understand,” Joash said.

“Mimir undoubtedly plans evil, and he knows that Elohim raises champions to thwart Nephilim schemes.”

Herrek sat up. For many years, he’d volunteered for Lord Uriah’s quests. He knew his great, great grandfather’s ways.

“What has Elohim shown you?” Herrek asked.

“It is not your place to question me,” said Lord Uriah.

“Forgive me, Lord,” Herrek said, but he didn’t sound repentant.

“Mother Protectress,” Lord Uriah called.

The curtain moved, and Zillith entered the room. She wore a shawl and a black robe. Herrek rose, bowed, and sat on the rug beside Joash. Zillith sat in the chair. She had a wrinkled face, with sharp cheekbones, and large doe’s eyes. Once, she must have been a beauty. Now, she had bearing and presence. There was something eerily formidable in her dark eyes, a sense of strength for her friends, and cunning danger against her enemies.

“Mimir has seen Joash’s flame,” Lord Uriah told his sister.

“Mimir the Wise?” asked Zillith.

Lord Uriah threw aside his cloak and stood. Maybe he wasn’t as big as Herrek, but he was still a warrior to fear. Perhaps the wise would fear him more, for a long lifetime had taught Lord Uriah unusual skills. “Will the dog live?”

“Maybe,” Zillith said.

Lord Uriah laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “I wish to reward you, Joash.”

“Lord?”

“Stand up.”

Joash leaped to his feet.

“You risked your life to obey my command. I would be a foolish Patriarch indeed, if I did not recognize such valor. Then, you found Mimir the giant, and spoke with him. And even more, you allowed Mimir, the so-called Wise, to judge your mettle and find you superior. You have performed mightily this night, Joash the Chariot-Runner. I am well pleased.”

Joash flushed with pride.

“Herrek tells me that you withdrew his spear from the sabertooth corpse.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“You had need of a weapon, eh?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“You needed a warrior’s weapon, isn’t that so?”

Joash nodded.

“You risked your life to obey my command, and then, you realized that because of your boldness, you needed a true weapon. Such a weapon was before you, and you took it. Is that the truth?”

“Yes, lord,” Joash said, wondering what was about to happen.

Lord Uriah turned toward his great, great grandson. “Did he insult you by withdrawing your weapon from the beast you had so nobly slain?”

“No, Lord,” Herrek said. “I am pleased he chose my spear.”

“Pleased enough that as his lord you would give him gifts?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Pleased enough that you would honor him by letting me bless one of the gifts?”

Herrek grinned.

“Pleased enough to set him on the path to warrior-hood?”

Herrek paused. “He has been a fine runner, Lord, brave and filled with stamina. In time he might make a fine warrior.”

“In time?” Lord Uriah asked.

“Given training.”

“But he has no proper weapons.”

“That is bad,” Herrek said. “For how can a runner become a warrior if he has not the proper weapons to train with?”

“This is a mystery,” Lord Uriah agreed.

Joash couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He waited, hoping that his two-year-old dream was coming true. He wasn’t an Elonite, but he’d hoped, ever since watching Herrek defeat Balak, to become a warrior just like him.

“Joash,” Lord Uriah said.

Joash stood as straight as he could.

Lord Uriah threw aside a rug, and lifted the seven-foot spear that Joash had withdrawn from the sabertooth’s corpse. The steel head gleamed, shining in the candle and coal-light. Joash understood now why it had smelled like weapon-oil in the room. Lord Uriah had cleaned and polished the steel. Awe filled him.

“I bless this spear,” Lord Uriah said solemnly. “And I have asked for Elohim’s blessing as well. It is my honor to give you this spear, Joash, to give you the spear of your Lord Herrek.”

“Thank you, Lord. And thank you,” he told Herrek.

“You are no longer a bondservant,” Lord Uriah said. “That is my gift to you. You are now Herrek’s Groom, who needs one to temporarily replace poor Nestor.”

“L-Lord Uriah,” Joash stammered.

“And if Harn lives, he is yours as well,” Herrek said.

“Yes,” Lord Uriah said. “Such fierce loyalty should be well rewarded. Of course, as a groom you will still run behind Herrek’s chariot.”

Joash laughed, because he was bubbling with joy.

“Your first task, Groom, will be to take your spear, and go with Herrek into the steppes. You must find out what happened to Elidad. Adah the Singer will join you, as well as Gens, of course. More would go, but not at a time when giants threaten the camp. When you return, all the camp shall rejoice over your newfound status.”

“Thank you, Lord Uriah!”

Lord Uriah gave Joash a bear hug, slapping him on the back. Then he dipped his golden horn into a keg, and bade Joash drink the entire draught. Joash coughed and wheezed, but he choked it down. Herrek laughed, Lord Uriah smiled, and Zillith shook her head, no doubt at the strange ways of men.

“Now,” Lord Uriah said, “you must be about your business. But carefully, Groom. Beware of giants and old sabertooths.”

Joash nodded, and together with Herrek, he took his leave.