Giants

CHAPTER SEVEN Old Three-Paws

The midsummer sun reached its zenith, and the air lost any hint of moisture. Horse-sweat was borne away before Joash could smell it. The wild steppe animals lay down or grazed sleepily, because the dire wolves, orns, and sabertooths had vanished. Most likely the carnivores would not leave their cool cave hollows or the shade of lonely trees until the sun had lost some of its horrid power.

Herrek slipped a white tunic over his mail and took off his heavy helmet. Sweat oozed from him nevertheless. Gens, less encumbered, suffered less. Still, whenever he shifted his grip he left damp spots of sweat on the elk-leather reins.

The boulders grew as the chariots crawled toward them. The boulders stood tall, like sentinels, and were an odd shade of yellow, no doubt from the Kragehul lichen that crept upon any stone left in this land. As they traveled, the black ribbon of smoke continued to thread its way skyward. Joash couldn’t imagine having to feed a fire in this heat. If Brand and Elidad had found safety there, they would surely be suffering.

Despite the urgency of their quest, Herrek called a halt under the shade of a tall sycamore tree, lest the horses suffer heatstroke. Gens and Joash watered the stallions while Herrek crouched upon his heels and eyed the boulders. He looked tired. Dried sweat left faint runnels of grime on his face, while dust left his hair chalky-looking. Adah joined Herrek. Joash strained to hear them.

“Sabertooths hate this heat,” Herrek said.

“This is a killing heat,” Adah agreed. “I wonder if it is natural.”

Herrek tore himself from his tight-lipped study of the boulders. “Do you think this heat is the work of First Born?”

Adah stirred uneasily.

“They do not wield such powers,” Herrek said.

“Certain of the bene elohim once did.”

Herrek frowned thoughtfully.

“Maybe this power has been passed on to one of the First Born,” Adah said.

Herrek sipped from his canteen. He didn’t look convinced.

“Each First Born and Nephilim is born with a gift,” Adah said, “The Accursed gift. Each child, unto the third generation, can do things not natural to us. Some gifts are trifling, others baleful. Maybe this heat is one of those gifts, for it is much hotter today than yesterday.”

“It is hot,” Herrek agreed.

“The awful among the evil ones have learned another terrible magic,” Adah said in a subdued tone.

“Necromancy?” asked Herrek.

“You have heard of it?”

Herrek was slow in answering. “Once, many years ago, Lord Uriah took twenty great, great grandchildren into his inner study in Havilah Holding and instructed us about the terrible arts used by the evil ones. He told us about their gift, and about legends that made us shudder. He also told us about necromancy, how the bene elohim Necroman long ago learned to use immortal spirits for his obscene spells. Lord Uriah said anyone who learned such arts was to be stoned and left for the dogs to gnaw.” Herrek scratched his cheek. “But such a skill, if it may be termed that, is incredibly difficult to master. The consequences of the improper usage of spirits may destroy the wielder.”

“You have been deeply taught,” Adah said.

“I am of the line of Lord Uriah.”

Adah laid a hand on his brawny forearm. “When I lived in Poseidonis, I witnessed many strange things. Yorgash knew the blasphemy of necromancy. He used such spells against my people.” She paused. “There is a taint here. I-I cannot be certain, because anyone who follows Elohim does not know the exact workings of magic. But I remember…” She removed took her hand. “I am troubled. I fear for Elidad.”

“That he is injured?”

“Yes, but more so in spirit than in body.”

Herrek didn’t answer right away. When he did, he was angry. “Elidad is the great, great grand-nephew of Lord Uriah. He is a warrior, a brave man. He may not be turned from Elohim’s path.”

“Why did he travel inland?” Adah asked.

“Elidad must have scented a great danger or was chased by Old Three-Paws, whom I shall slay.”

“Would Elidad just drive off?”

“You told us before that Tarag is here,” Herrek said. “Maybe it was impossible for Elidad to return to camp.”

“I’ve debated with myself, and I’ve recalled horrors from Poseidonis that once haunted my dreams. Elidad’s journey inland seems unnatural. I fear we’ve stumbled upon something very grave indeed.”

“Do you suggest we abandon Elidad and Brand?”

Adah shook her head.

“What then?” Herrek asked.

Joash had to strain to catch her words.

“That we strengthen our thoughts, and that we are wary when we meet Elidad. Never forget that the evil ones are cunning. We must be on guard against their magic.”

Herrek lifted his chin. At last, he nodded. “I accept your advice, Singer. I see it as caution against the Nephilim. But I do not accept this slander against Elidad. Like us, he serves Elohim. For years, I have fought with him against the Shurites and against the treacherous Huri of the forests. Never have I questioned Elidad’s bravery, or his judgment. Maybe he is bolder than others are, but that is to be praised, not slandered. Do you understand my words?”

Adah nodded.

“Then let us see what the black smoke means.”

They moved into the sunlight. The heat hit Joash like a physical blow. His face hurt, and the back of his neck was dotted with sweat. He wore a hat, but too often the sunlight managed to sneak past the brim as he turned this way and that. He tried to keep his face aimed at the ground and saw the wilted grass and the puffs of dust raised by hooves. The sun mercilessly beat the strength and endurance out of the stallions.

“I’m going to walk,” he told Adah.

Joash strode beside Koton. The black dog panted, with his pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Beads of moisture dripped from the tongue. Herrek walked too, but shortly traded places with Gens.

Joash’s thoughts drifted. Old Three-Paws had slain Ard, perhaps at this terrible Tarag’s orders. Sabertooths were horribly strong brutes, like the young yellow-fanged male who had wounded Harn and broken Nestor’s leg. Joash had been terrified yesterday when the sabertooth charged. Adah said Tarag was the King of Sabertooths. What chance did they have against a creature like that?

Joash took off his hat and wiped his brow.

Maybe Tarag wasn’t the right beast to fear. Old Three-Paws was the one to fear, Old Three-Paws the hunter of men, Old Three-Paws the slayer of Jeremoth…

Old Three-Paws lay panting in the shade of the boulders. He had feasted well upon horseflesh and had delighted himself when he’d smashed the two-legs’ head. The helmet had crumbled under his blow and brain had leaked out. He’d licked some of the gore, but had left it for others of his pride to taste and enjoy.

That did nothing to ease their fear, however. The stink of it was heavy upon them. Three more members had slipped back to the god-creature.

A rock clattered against stone. Three-Paws looked up. The rock tumbled toward him, and then bounced off into the sunlight. He put his head back onto his good paw. The lone two-legs on the boulders still tried to hit him. It didn’t matter. The two-legs would die in time. Three-Paws wouldn’t leave the cubbing den area until this two-legs was dead. Not the god-creature, not an army of two-legs, not even a herd of trumpeting mammoths, could drive him from here. The cubbing den was sacrosanct. He would slay any that invaded it.

Another rock bounced toward him. This one sped truly. Three-Paws rose and stepped closer to the boulder. In a moment the rock thudded onto the grassy ground where he’d just lain.

Despite his full stomach and the pleasure of slaying a two-legs, Three-Paws seethed with malice toward the one up there. He roared. How he hated and wished to crush them all. How he yearned to smell the scent of him who had given him the crippled paw. He would never forget that scent. When he found it, he would slay its owner. On that point, he’d been certain for many turnings of the seasons.

“They travel straight for the old sabertooth,” Mimir said. He wiped sweat from his brow before re-settling the heavy helmet onto his head.

“True,” Tarag said.

“The old sabertooth will kill them.”

“Yes.”

“O High One, it will ruin our carefully laid plans.”

“No, for our charioteer is secure. Some from the old sabertooth’s pride have told me that the man hides at the top of the boulders.”

“Yes… But how will you remove the old sabertooth? It will destroy the spell if our charioteer sees us.”

“Do not question me, Giant.”

Mimir bowed his head. “Please forgive me, High One.”

Tarag grunted. “We must wait for the Old One to slay Lord Uriah’s charioteers. Then, at night, I will kill the Old One.”

“The one I spoke with rides with the charioteers.”

“That is unfortunate, but the treasure comes first.”

“As you will it, High One,” Mimir said.

Tarag turned away, and growled to the sabertooths around him.

Mimir peered over the hot plains. It was too bad about Joash. He had hoped to use the young man. Mimir shrugged philosophically and removed his heavy helmet. It was dreadfully hot, but that was all part of the curse of this region. He shuddered, then hardened his resolve for the terrible ordeal that they would be forced to endure.

“Vultures,” Adah hissed.

Joash followed her gaze and saw vultures circling the boulders. The plume of black smoke still threaded up. He knew that the lake they’d spotted earlier spread out behind the rock-pile. Joash yearned to splash in its water, maybe cut a pole and fish for perch or pike. His stomach rumbled at the thought of sizzling fish, and his skin crawled at the feel of sweaty grime that seemed to have penetrated everywhere. His leathers needed a thorough washing.

Herrek whistled and made a curt gesture.

Joash jumped aboard the chariot, Adah handing him the reins. She strung her small bow with catgut thread and notched one of her parrot-feathered arrows. A sticky green substance was smeared on the arrowhead. Poison. Joash shook his head. He recalled what she’d told him about Poseidonis, but this wasn’t Poseidonis. This was the steppe. Here they didn’t fight naked and smear themselves with smelly plant-juices. Here Herrek wore costly chainmail armor and wielded weapons forged in tall-walled Caphtor itself. Why then did they need poison?

The boulders were close, the three biggest were about two-and-a-half-times taller than Captain Maharbal’s tallest mast. The smaller boulders were like sheds. All were clad with yellow lichen, and Joash noticed swallow nests on the shadowed sides of the nearest overhangs. Yellow waist-high grass surrounded the rocks. The grasses didn’t waver, nor did black birds perch upon them or dart in and around them hunting insects. Joash saw clouds of flies that were always found near carcasses. Surely, birds should be feasting upon the flies.

Joash looked up. The vultures watched them, and they watched something at the foot of the rocks. He looked again at the boulders and blanched. Chariot wreckage! He saw an upward slanting yoke and a glimpse of a box half in the boulders’ shade.

He pointed it out to Adah. She nodded grimly. The wreck lay in a stony cul-de-sac.

Joash stopped beside Herrek’s chariot.

The big warrior glanced at Adah’s bow but said nothing about her poisoned arrow. “The vultures show an interest in the wreck,” he said, as if the fact of the wreck didn’t bother him. The stark look on his face belied that, however.

“Are they all dead?” she asked.

Herrek unslung a horn of beaten silver. The horn sang with power and proudly proclaimed him to be a charioteer of Elon.

A bear-like man, with a green cloak, climbed atop the highest boulder. He had silver colored hair. Elidad raised his spear. The sunlight glinted off its point. He pointed into the shadowed areas. “Sabertooths!” he yelled.

Herrek put away the horn. “We will hunt sabertooths,” he said grimly.

“Will you simply charge into the cul-de-sac?” Adah asked.

Herrek put on his helmet, the one with the proud horsehair crest. He picked up his huge auroch-hide shield, and then his twelve-foot lance. “What do you see, Groom?”

Joash had been carefully studying the grasses. “Sabertooths watch us.”

“How many?” Herrek asked.

“At least three.”

Elidad, Joash noticed, worked his way down from the top of the boulders.

“What do you plan?” Adah asked.

“To entice the sabertooths away from the rocks,” Herrek said.

“And then?”

“Then, I will slay them.”

Adah stared at Herrek. “May I point out that you have only three hounds, and only one other warrior.”

Herrek appeared not to have heard her.

“I know you’re aware that one of those sabertooths is Old Three-Paws,” she said. “Three-Paws, a deadly hunter of men.”

The knuckles of Herrek’s hand, the hand wrapped around his lance, turned white at the force of his grip.

“Elidad can survive upon the boulders long enough for us to gather more warriors,” Adah said. “Study Elidad’s chariot. It is wrecked, and I see no sign of Brand. Old Three-Paws has butchered two Elonites on this expedition. We must not allow him to kill more.”

“I will slay Old Three-Paws and rescue Elidad,” Herrek said.

“You cannot slay him,” Adah said. “Your stallions are weary. You only have three hounds, as I’ve said. And instead of many warriors, only a Singer and a single Groom support you.”

Joash interrupted. “The sabertooths are moving.” He pointed at the higher grasses around the boulders. “See how the grass shifts over there, but there is no wind? They’re trying to ambush us.”

“Let us retreat,” Adah said. “Then let them charge us. I’ll shoot them. After the poison has slowed them, we’ll rescue Elidad.”

“I will not blaspheme Jeremoth’s memory by using poisons against his slayer,” Herrek said. “This will be done honorably.”

“Are you mad?” Adah asked. “This is Old Three-Paws. He’s a man-killer. He’s sly and cunning.”

“No poisons. Rather would I die than sully my name,” Herrek said.

“This is a beast, not a warrior. There is no honor or dishonor to be won or lost here.”

“You are wrong, Singer. Old Three-Paws is a glorious foe. In single combat he slew my brother. Today, I will slay him.”

“What about the other sabertooths?” Adah asked.

Inside his helmet, Herrek smiled. They saw how ghastly it was, how determined and fierce.

“Herrek—”

“Listen to me. You are right when you say Old Three-Paws is cunning. It is also hot today, and he has the benefit of the shade. But he will be sluggish from gorging himself upon horsemeat. Nor will they stupidly charge after us so you can shoot them with poison arrows. Or should I say, they will not charge unless they think they can kill us in one fell swoop.”

“What do you plan?” Adah asked.

Herrek raised his lance. “I have come to kill you, Three-Paws! I have come to put my brother’s ghost to rest! Today you die, slayer of men!”

Joash watched the grasses. He saw yet another sabertooth, or the shift of the tall grasses where the beast moved into ambush position. He gave the reins to Adah, jumped out of the chariot, unwound his sling, and took a smooth stone from his pouch.

Herrek slotted his long lance into its chariot holder and put aside his cumbersome shield. He stepped off the chariot, readied his seven-foot war spear, and strode toward the cul-de-sac where the sabertooths hid.

“Good luck,” Adah called. “May Elohim guide you!”

“Don’t worry,” Joash said, although he was worried. “Herrek is drawing them from hiding.”

With the reins wrapped around his fists, Gens keenly watched the grasses. He whispered to the two stallions. They snorted and pawed the ground.

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Adah said.

“The lions at home are clever, too,” Joash told her. “I’ve seen Herrek use this maneuver before.” Joash began to twirl his sling as he took several steps in Herrek’s direction. “Be ready to flee,” he told her.

Old Three-Paws watched the hated two-legs stride toward him. It seemed he recognized the walk, the certain, confident stride. Then, a truant breeze drifted near. Old Three-Paws lifted his fanged snout. His nostrils twitched.

Yes! It was him, his hated enemy.

Although he yearned to roar with rage, Three-Paws inched forward on his belly. If only the two-legs would come close enough. The heat was terrible, and his full stomach made him slower than usual. It made them all slower, but if the prey would actually walk to his death…

Old Three-Paws’s huge body was rigid, tense, and ready. Closer. Just a little closer. Yes, several more steps, and then he would finally sink his teeth into him whom he longed to slay.

Joash concentrated upon the grasses. He saw a massive gray shape inching into ambush position. He twirled his sling faster, and then he released the end of one of his sling cords. The smooth stone zipped through grass but missed the crouching beast by a hair’s breadth.

Herrek stopped. He was dangerously far from the chariot and near the cul-de-sac. “Three-Paws!” he roared. “I’m here.”

Grasses stirred, but no sabertooths exploded out to attack.

Herrek shifted his spear so he was ready to throw. “Three-Paws! Man-Killer! Slayer of Jeremoth! Come and meet your doom!”

“He’s mad,” Adah whispered.

“No,” said Gens. “For years he’s been torn by grief over his brother’s death. Now he atones.”

“The sabertooths attack!” Joash shouted. He released his sling again, hitting a beast on the snout as it exploded from hiding. The sabertooth stopped and shook its huge head. Then it once more dashed at Herrek. “Go!” Joash told the dogs. They raced for Herrek as they madly barked. Joash turned and jumped aboard Adah’s chariot. Old Three-Paws roared. Adah’s stallions bolted in fear. Joash hung on to the chariot railing, and turned to see what happened.

Herrek faced the charging monster. Then another and another beast leaped from hiding, and at the Champion of Teman Clan. Herrek was doomed. But Gens’s stallions had been trained to hunt lions, and Gens was perhaps the greatest driver on the steppes. He urged the Asvarn stallions into the fray. They thundered toward Herrek, following the dogs.

“Turn the team!” Joash shouted at Adah. He freed his spear from its chariot holder. The Singer accomplished a miracle and turned the team. Her teeth were set as she, too, charged the sabertooths.

Herrek hurled his spear at Old Three-Paws—the sabertooth was monstrously huge, his face screwed into berserk rage. Herrek pivoted as Three-Paws slowed and dodged the spear. Then in full armor, Herrek raced toward Gens and the fast-approaching chariot.

“You mad fool,” Adah hissed, as she shook the reins.

Three-Paws, for all his bulk, his crippled left paw, and his bulging belly, gained on Herrek. Three other big sabertooths also converged upon the warrior. Twenty yards, fifteen.

The dogs raced past Herrek and launched themselves upon the sabertooths. It wasn’t a contest. One dog went down under the murderous claws, then another. Three-Paws lost ground, but ran hard again.

Gens drove near Herrek and tightly turned his team. Grasses and dirt shot out from the madly spinning wheels. Without breaking stride, Herrek grabbed hold of the passing chariot-rail. With expert skill he hauled himself beside Gens. Gens lashed the stallions. They dug their hooves into the soil and pulled the two men in the battle-cart. Three-Paws gained nevertheless. Herrek jerked the twelve-foot lance from its holder. His balance was incredible. The shifting jerking chariot, bouncing over rocks and uneven terrain, didn’t upset him or throw him out. Herrek only stayed aboard because of his planted feet, his knees absorbing every shock and sway. With two hands he held the lance and squarely faced Three-Paws. Gens lashed the team to greater speed. The champion of the expedition stared in fury at the lone sabertooth, ignoring the others that converged upon them.

Old Three-Paws stared into the eyes of him who he hated more than any other. He recognized the hate in the other’s eyes. That infuriated him. With a roar and with all the rage of his old, yet massive, muscles, Three-Paws launched himself into the air and at the hated two-legs. Herrek, his feet set, judged the moment right. He leaned at Three-Paws. Herrek roared the Teman war cry. He thrust the lance at Old Three-Paws. It was perfect. The steel pierced Three-Paws’s left eye. The momentum of both drove the hardened steel deep into Three Paws’s head. Herrek strove to push the heavy sabertooth bulk to the side of the chariot. With all his strength he tried to move the beast away from them. The monstrous sabertooth was too huge to stop completely. His weight tore the lance out of Herrek’s grasp. Then Old Three-Paws smashed against the chariot. He knocked Herrek back against Gens. Old Three-Paws landed in the chariot with them. A wheel went flying. Old Three-Paws bounced and tumbled out. Warrior and driver, perhaps because of a lifetime of charioting, somehow managed to hang on. The other wheel snapped off. But the rampaging stallions paid no heed as they dragged the platform across the steppe.

A caroming wheel hit a sabertooth as it launched itself at the chariot, knocking it head-over-heels. Another beast slid sideways and ducked the flying wheel, allowing the chariot to pass unscathed by its claws. Adah and Joash sped at the last sabertooth. Joash hurled his spear. The sabertooth easily avoided the clumsy cast, but it gave Gens his margin. Gens lashed the foaming stallions past the beast. The stallions dragged the wheel-less platform until, finally, the spent sabertooths slowed down and broke off the chase.

Lying in the plains, however, the lance-head deep in his brain, Old Three-Paws twitched his last.