The Giant Among Us

4

Tavis sat against the tunnel door, whetting his sword and listening to the heavy steps outside. Every muffled boom caused the candle to hiss and sputter ominously, but the scout did not bother to rise and see how much stub remained. He had perched the taper on the edge of the door’s counterweight, and the long curtain of wax running down the side told him all he needed to know.

The giants had been out there all night, building war machines or dancing or rutting or whatever. It made little difference to the scout. He did not dare open the door while they were so close. The instant he pulled the counterweight down, the rusty chains would squeal like a raging boar. All he could do was wait-wait and hope the brutes would move off before sunrise.

Dawn could not be far away, for the journey through the secret tunnel had been long and difficult. The passage was so low and cramped that the firbolg had been forced to creep through it nearly doubled over, at times twisting sideways so he could squeeze his broad shoulders through. To make matters worse, a steady trickle of water had seeped down from the lake above, submerging much of the floor beneath an icy black puddle. Nevertheless, the scout had ignored his cold-numbed feet and pressed on steadily over the slick footing, only to hear the giants outside when he finally reached the door. With three-quarters of his candle remaining, he had taken out his whetstone and sat down to hone his weapons.

Now, his dagger and his arrow tips were all freshly sharpened, he was putting the finishing touches on his sword, and the stomping outside continued unabated. From the way his candle spat and hissed, the wick was all but gone and the flame was sinking into the wax. Tavis tried not to think about how long it took a candle to burn and concentrated on whetting his sword.

The blade was already as sharp as an owl’s talon, but the scout found himself scraping the stone along as though honing an unedged sword-and not because he was upset about his foes outside. Tavis knew from long experience it was best to remain patient and calm around giants, and he always did. But he had an aching knot where his heart should have been, and that kind of distress could have only one cause: the queen.

The whetstone shot from beneath his thumb. The scout’s hand slid across his sword’s sharp edge, opening a deep cut across his palm. Tavis cursed and opened his satchel to retrieve a bandage, grumbling at Brianna for causing him to be so inattentive. Though the firbolg had been raised among humans, he still could not comprehend the way their convoluted minds worked.

Brianna loved Tavis. That was what she claimed, and most of the time she acted like it. Yet she refused to wed him, claiming their union would weaken the kingdom. Then, in the next breath, she expressed her willingness to carry on secretly as though they were husband and wife! The firbolg, of course, had no choice but to refuse. It would be impossible for him to keep such a secret. Besides, if the earls objected to their marriage, he could only imagine how they would react to such a deception. The queen claimed the nobles would accept the arrangement, but the scout could not believe that. Even if he could live a lie, he failed to see how Hartsvale would benefit by asking everyone in the country to do the same.

Now Brianna wanted to marry a man she hardly knew, a foreign prince, and treat Tavis as her husband! The firbolg could not help questioning her judgment. His understanding of human behavior was limited, but to him such a proposal sounded like a formula for war. Although Arlien had reacted graciously enough when he had stumbled upon them embracing, the prince seemed a man of honor. He would certainly expect his wife to abide by the sacred vows of marriage.

The vows were another matter. Tavis had heard them many times, and they spoke of such things as devotion, fidelity, obedience, a giving of the self. How could Brianna swear those things to the prince of a distant kingdom? By giving herself to Arlien, she was also giving Hartsvale to him. If the earls objected to the queen presenting all that to a citizen of their own country, surely they would object to having it given to a foreigner! Or maybe not. Brianna certainly hadn’t seemed to think so, and she was astute about such things.

Tavis ripped a strip off his bandage cloth, then tied the dressing around his palm. Being in love with Brianna was a confusing thing, and it was getting more baffling all the time. The firbolg had endured the past year only by hoping that once she established herself as queen, she would feel secure enough to marry him. But with Arlien’s arrival, that hope had grown distant. Now, the scout could look forward only to protecting Brianna while she raised another man’s children. He didn’t know how he could endure that possibility, but he would find a way. He had to; he had sworn to defend the queen until her death, and firbolgs did as they pledged.

Tavis picked up his whetstone and drew it down his sword in a light, smooth stroke. He would concentrate on his duties and face each day as it came. Maybe Hiatea would look more favorably on him tomorrow, and if not, then perhaps the day after.

The candle flame gave a contemptuous hiss, then finally sank into the wax and pitched Tavis into dank blackness.

Avner knelt before the locked door and examined the keyhole by the light of a flickering candle. The latch was secured by a primitive ward lock, strong but easy enough to pick. The youth put Basil’s satchel aside, then reached inside his tunic and withdrew a set of flat metal bars affixed to an iron ring. The tools came in many different sizes, but all were shaped roughly like skeleton keys, with a wide variety of notches and grooves cut into the end tabs. He selected the tool of the proper size and slowly worked it into the keyhole, twisting gently from side to side until he felt it slip past the wards. He gently turned the implement, engaging the bolt.

The lock had barely clicked open before the chamber door flew ajar, jerking the ring of picks from Avner’s hand.

“By Karontor!” Basil hissed. The verbeeg dropped to his hands and knees, trying to squeeze his bony shoulders through a portal meant for humans half his size. “I thought you’d never come for me!”

Avner quickly blocked the doorway. “I didn’t come for you,” he corrected. “I came to see you.”

“Then see me outside.” The runecaster started to crawl forward.

Avner planted both his palms on Basil’s crooked nose and pushed, forcing the astonished verbeeg back into his gloomy chamber. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere,” Basil answered. He peered past the boy’s shoulder, his baggy eyes wild with desperation. “Anyplace is better than this.”

Avner glanced around the room. Although the earl’s men had removed the furniture to make room for the verbeeg, they had been kind enough leave an oil lamp and throw several straw mattresses across a sturdy table to make a bed. There was even a barred window overlooking the inner ward, its shutters thrown wide open despite the cold predawn breeze.

“This isn’t so bad, especially considering you’ll end up in the dungeon if you try to leave,” Avner said. “The castle’s crawling with soldiers, and they’d spot someone your size in a minute. It was tough enough to get this back.” The youth reached around the corner and retrieved Basil’s satchel. “Besides, where do you think you could go? Into the hills with the giants?”

“Perhaps,” Basil replied. “Or maybe I could hide in the library.”

“That’s the first place they’d look,” Avner said. He pointed to the makeshift bed beneath the window. “Besides, how long has it been since you had something that comfortable to sleep on?”

“How can a prisoner sleep?” Basil demanded. “While I languish here, life outside is passing me by.”

Avner rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent weeks in pits slimier and darker than this. You haven’t been here one night” He took his picks from the lock, then pushed the door closed. “What kind of thief is afraid of jail?”

“One should not be punished for acting in accordance with the principles of one’s race,” the runecaster replied. “And if you’re not here to free me, what do you want? At this hour of the morning, I doubt you’ve come to pass the time.”

“We’ve got to do something about Arlien.” Avner went to sit on the table, dragging Basil’s huge satchel with him. “The prince is coming between Tavis and Brianna.”

Basil sank to his haunches and sat facing the youth. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Avner opened the satchel and removed half a dozen apples he had taken from the earl’s kitchen. He kept one for himself and tossed the rest to Basil. “The good prince came to marry her.”

“I realize that,” the runecaster replied. “But I fail to see what we can do about it.”

Basil slipped an apple into his mouth. He crushed it with a single chomp and swallowed it, stem, core, and all.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to prevent a marriage.” Avner bit into his own apple.

Basil raised his bushy eyebrows. “Assassinate the prince?”

Avner sighed in exasperation. “I was hoping we could think of something less drastic. I’m not trying to start a war.”

Basil popped another apple into his mouth and gnashed it slowly. “Runes of the heart are hardly my area of expertise,” he said. “But I do have a trick or two that might help our cause-perhaps a rune of stammering or foul odors.”

“Good!” Avner said. “The prince can’t court Brianna if he smells bad-but it’ll have to be subtle. We don’t want the queen to realize what we’re doing.”

“Of course not,” Basil agreed. He glanced forlornly around the room, studying the gloomy stone walls. “But the rune requires modification, and I can’t concentrate here.”

“What are you saying?” Avner demanded. “This chamber’s not much smaller than your study at Castle Hartwick, and you stay in there for days!”

Basil’s eyes lit up. “Yes, but I have my books,” he said. “Perhaps, if I had something to occupy my attention, this dreary room would seem more like a proper office.”

Avner shook his head. “Not on my life!” he said. “Filching your satchel and a few apples is one thing, but if Earl Cuthbert catches me with his folios, he’ll feed us both to the giants!”

Basil’s gray eyes grew as hard as the stones of his cell. “Then I hope you enjoy weddings.”

Avner tore a big piece from his apple. He gnawed on this for a time, then said, “Just one, and I take it back as soon as you’re done.”

“Very well. Even I can read only one book at a time.” A treacherous gleam appeared in Basil’s eye, then he added, “Of course, the magic of my rune might last longer if I had no fear of growing bored.”

“All right,” Avner growled. “How often do I have to bring you a new book?”

“We’ll set up a signal.” Basil thought for a moment, then said, “It’ll be best if you can see it from a distance. I’ll close my shutters whenever I’m ready.”

“Fine.” Avner slipped off the table. “I hope I know what I’m getting myself into.”

The youth stepped to the window and threw his apple core out into the gray glow of first light.

The stomping had ended some time earlier, pattering into silence after an unexpected crescendo. That had been exactly a thousand breaths ago-Tavis had counted each one, lacking any other way to tell time-and now it was time to go. The scout checked to make sure his sword, quiver, and shoulder satchel were secure, then grabbed the counterweight chain and pulled.

An ear-piercing squeal, almost deafening after the long silence, echoed off the stone walls. The counterweight seemed to stick for a moment, then a loud crack sounded from the threshold as the door broke free. The granite slab began to rise, grudgingly, and a low, grinding growl joined the cacophony of rattling chains. A sliver of gray light appeared on the tunnel floor and slowly spread down the passageway.

Tavis cursed. Although the rays were not bright, he knew what they meant: dawn was coming, and soon. He forced himself to look into the light so his eyes would grow accustomed to it and pulled harder. The door rose another foot.

A gentle tremor shuddered through the tunnel, then another and another: giants searching for the source of the mysterious sounds. More steps joined the first, but none seemed to be growing any louder. That would change quickly enough, Tavis knew. Soon his foes would overcome their initial confusion and track down the source of the clamor.

The scout stopped pulling on the chains and heard the gruff, terse grunts of shouting hill giants. Although the voices were too muffled to understand, they sounded much closer than Tavis would have liked. He gave the chain another long pull, then abruptly stopped. A trio of giants began shouting contradictory commands, confused by the sporadic noise.

Tavis eyed the gap between the door and threshold, finding about three feet of gray light. That was enough space for him to squeeze through, but he feared the granite slab would slide down the instant he released it. The scout pulled again, paused a short time, then gave the chain another tug. The door rose to a height of six feet, and now he could hear the giants clearly.

“Where Gragg hear that sound?”

“Gone ’gain,” answered another muffled voice. “But gots to be over there somewhere. Be quiet.”

The tunnel stopped shuddering as the giants moved more carefully. The scout could picture them stalking through the predawn light in the typical posture of hunting hill giants: hunched over almost double, tree trunks resting across their stooped shoulders, their dull eyes fixed on the ground with their thick brows screwed into a crumpled parody of concentration. They were hardly as stealthy as fog giants, but they would move with surprising grace for such ungainly beings, their knees bent and their legs flexed. If the need arose, they could spring over the land in great, bounding strides, the impact of each crashing footfall bouncing their terrified quarry off the ground. Tavis did not look forward to becoming their prey, but the prospect of reporting his failure to Brianna was even less appealing.

The scout took a deep breath, then snatched Bear Driller and threw himself into the gray light. The door began to descend with a loud, grating rumble.

The ground failed to appear beneath Tavis. He plummeted headfirst into the gloom and glimpsed the face of a rocky crag slipping past, then the stony dark mass of a hillside emerged before his eyes. He had enough time to cover his head before a wave of stinging numbness coursed through his arms. The scout rolled instantly, and found himself tumbling head-over-heels down a steep bank, ricocheting off boulders and tree trunks and leaving equipment strewn all down the slope. He came to a rest in the bottom of a rocky gulch, dizzy and aching, with the growl of the closing door still rumbling somewhere above.

“Meorf hear sound!” shouted a giant’s distant voice.

“Bhurn, too!” answered another. “Come up here, Gragg!”

A series of muffled thuds echoed through the night. Tavis jumped to his feet and collapsed again, too shocked to stand. Both arms stung horribly, but it was his ribs that caused him the most pain. They hurt so much he could not draw air. The firbolg fought the tide of panic rising inside his chest and forced himself to exhale. The ache in his torso began to subside as his lungs expanded again; he had only knocked the wind out of himself. The scout took a few deep breaths, then flexed his elbows, wrists, and fingers. All the joints seemed in good working order, so he had not broken any bones. Tavis rose, relieved to have survived his unexpected fall.

The rumble on the hillside above came to a slow, grinding halt. Tavis looked up and saw the small cliff off which he had inadvertently leaped. The secret passage opened near the center, above a narrow ledge that led across the face to a safe route down. The granite door fit so tightly between two natural crevices that the scout would never have noticed it, save that the rusty counterweight chains had gotten stuck, leaving the granite slab hanging three feet above its threshold.

“Surtr’s flame take that earl!” Tavis hissed. He could not leave Cuthbert’s secret door open. Even if the hill giants couldn’t fit into the narrow passage beyond, they could send a pack of their pet wolves through to wreak havoc. Besides, if they happened to have a shaman, there was no telling what use his magic might make of that tunnel. “If Cuthbert’s going to break Brianna’s law, at least he could do it well!”

Tavis started up the slope, gathering his satchel and other gear as he climbed.

“Meorf, hear squealing sound?”

“No, stupid,” Meorf replied. “Gone ’gain. But let’s us look in that ditch over there. That where it was, Bhurn.”

The voices of Meorf and Bhurn were coming over the hilltop. The third giant, Gragg, had not spoken, but the scout heard his heavy footsteps pounding along the lakeshore, about thirty paces away at the gulch mouth.

Tavis grabbed his arrows and thrust them back into his quiver, then angled across the hill to retrieve his bow. Once he had his favorite weapon in hand, he would not be so nervous about getting caught on the ledge above. Bear Driller had felled plenty of giants, many far larger than the trio now stalking him.

The pounding of giant steps suddenly faded. The scout looked up to see a pair of stoop-shouldered figures silhouetted on the summit of the hill. They stood almost directly above the secret passage, peering down into the gully toward Tavis.

“Meorf see somethin’?” It was Gragg’s voice, rolling up the gulch from the lakeshore.

“No,” Meorf replied. “Not Bhurn neither.”

Tavis glanced toward the lake, where he saw the last giant silhouetted against the starlit waters. This one was especially rotund, with a shape resembling that of a pear. The scout dropped flat to crawl to his bow.

“How Meorf know what Bhurn see?” Gragg demanded. “Let Bhurn talk!”

“Bhurn don’t see nothin’,” Meorf insisted. “Right?”

“Right,” Bhurn said. “Nothing but little fella.” The hill giant pointed a long finger at Tavis.

The scout snatched his bow and leaped to his feet, running away from Cuthbert’s tunnel. Trying to reach the passage now would only draw the giants’ attention to it and put him in a difficult defensive position. It would be far wiser to lure his pursuers away, then circle back later to close the door.

“Stop, little fella!” Bhurn yelled.

“What fella?” demanded Gragg.

A loud crash sounded on the slope above, then a small boulder bounced past Tavis’s head. He dodged away, barely eluding a second, better-aimed stone.

“Stop, stupid fella!” Meorf yelled.

“Where fella?” Gragg was still standing on the lakeshore, peering toward his friends on the hill’s summit. “Gragg don’t see nothin’!”

Tavis reached the bottom of the slope and started up the other side of the gulch, intentionally kicking stones down the hill to make it easier for Gragg to find him. If the secret passage was to remain hidden, all three giants had to follow him.

“Wait!” yelled Gragg. “Hill giants friends! Not hurt little fella!”

Two more boulders slammed into the ground behind Tavis. The scout paused and looked back across the gulch.

“Why should I stop? Meorf and Bhurn are too stupid to catch me!” he yelled. “And so is Gragg!”

“Meorf don’t need smarts to catch little man!”

“Bhurn neither!”

All three giants hefted their clubs and started after Tavis in great, bounding steps. The scout turned and scrambled up the slope. He moved swiftly and in near silence, his feet instinctively seeking out the firm, quiet footing of grass tufts and rocky crags. Now that all three giants were on his trail, he no longer needed to make himself an easy target.

Tavis reached the summit a few moments later, without the necessity of dodging any more boulders. Ahead of him lay the gray crests of dozens of hills, interspersed with shadowy black ravines similar to the one behind him. Out of every third gulch rose the yellow glow of a campfire. The scout did a quick count of the amber lights. Assuming that his three pursuers came from a typical campsite, he estimated that more than a hundred hill giants had encircled Cuthbert Castle.

Tavis turned around to see that Meorf and Bhurn had already crossed the gulch and climbed halfway up the slope. Gragg was still picking his way up the rocky gulch, grumbling bitterly about his difficulties. The scout cursed the giant’s stupidity. He had expected the brute to traverse the hillside instead of clambering up the treacherous gully bottom. Slipping around the trio would be much more difficult with one straggling behind.

Tavis went over to a large boulder perched on the summit of the hill. Hoping to slow Meorf and Bhurn enough for Gragg to catch up, the scout pushed the heavy stone down the slope.

“So long, you oafs!”

The scout did not linger to see if his plan worked. He turned and bounded down the other side of the hill, making as much noise as possible. After descending two dozen paces, he stopped and nocked an arrow, then quietly circled back to the summit and hid behind an unruly hedge of juniper bushes.

To his dismay, the scout saw Gragg standing in the gully below, gasping for breath and bracing himself against a tree. Meorf and Bhurn, on the other hand, were standing on the summit less than twenty paces away. Both giants were staring into the next dark gully, their eyes searching in vain for their quarry.

Meorf growled in frustration, then slowly turned around to face Gragg. Tavis aimed his arrow at the giant’s throat If the brute spied the secret tunnel on the opposite ridge, the scout would silence him before he could speak.

Fortunately for Meorf, he was more interested in his rotund fellow than the opposite wall of the canyon. “Stop wastin’ time, Gragg!” he ordered. “Stupid little fella gettin’ ’way.”

“Meorf and Bhurn go on,” Gragg said. “Gragg stay here, ’case little fella come back.”

“Come back?” Bhurn scoffed. “Gragg lazy. Dekz not like.”

“Dekz not here.” Gragg looked away from his companions. “Gragg camp boss. Go catch little fella!”

Bhurn kicked a rock down the slope, then turned to descend the other side of the hill. Meorf stayed long enough to snicker as Gragg jumped up to avoid the stone, then bounded after Bhurn.

Gragg watched the summit for a few moments. When no more stones came bouncing down at him, he found a boulder large enough to support his broad posterior and settled in to wait. Tavis slipped out of his hiding place and crept silently down the hill, keeping his arrow pointed at the giant’s back. He did not like killing in cold blood, but such things were necessary in war-and the ring of campfires encircling Cuthbert Castle left little doubt that the giants had come to make war.

Tavis was about halfway down when Gragg’s roving gaze fell on the open door to Cuthbert’s secret passage. The giant thrust his head forward, then suddenly rose to his feet

“Hey, Dekz was right!” he boomed. “Them little fellas gots a secret tunnel! Bhurn, Meorf, come-”

Tavis let his arrow fly.

Gragg’s command changed to a deafening shriek as the shaft drilled deep into his kidney. The giant stumbled forward, at the same time reaching behind his back to pluck the arrow from his body. His effort did not succeed, for Bear Driller was no ordinary bow. Tavis’s mentor had shown him how to double-bend the weapon and reinforce it with dragon bone, so that any arrow fired from it struck with the force of a horse-driven lance. The shaft had passed into Gragg’s kidney, fletching and all, and nothing short of healing magic could remove it now.

The scout nocked another arrow and rushed down the slope. Although he would have liked to ask Gragg a few questions, the firbolg’s intention was not to interrogate the injured giant. Kidney wounds were far too painful to allow questioning. Tavis was simply looking for a clean shot that would put Gragg out of his misery.

“Gragg, what all this screamin’ for?”

Tavis ducked behind a boulder, then glanced up to see Meorf standing on the summit.

“Where that secret tunnel?”

Gragg tried to answer, but all that spilled from his mouth was a long wail of agony. The injured giant spotted Tavis crouching behind the boulder and stumbled away, urgently gesturing at the scout’s hiding place.

“Tunnel there?” Meorf asked.

Gragg shook his head, then collapsed into the gulch and began to thrash about, mad with pain. Meorf screwed his brutish face into an expression of utter puzzlement, then suddenly dropped into a crouch. He glanced over his shoulder. “Bhurn come-”

Tavis stuck his head up and loosed an arrow. He had a poor angle, so the shaft failed to pierce the giant’s heart and simply buried itself in the rib cage. Meorf raised a hand to the wound, then his jaw went slack with surprise as he felt warm blood on his palm. Tavis nocked another arrow and stepped from behind his boulder. He needed a clean shot more than cover.

“Little fella hurt Meorf!” the giant bellowed.

Meorf raised his club and launched himself down the slope. Tavis barely had time to pull his bowstring back, then his foe was upon him, club raised to strike. The scout loosed his arrow.

A red dot appeared on Meorf’s belly, and his eyes went blank. The club flew from his hands and bounced away, then the giant’s immense bulk started to fall. The scout hurled himself aside, barely reaching the safety of his boulder before the impact of the dead body shook the entire slope.

Tavis wasted no time on self-congratulations, for Bhurn would be coming, and the scout preferred not to give his foe the uphill advantage. He nocked another arrow and sprinted toward the summit, his lungs burning from the exertion of the battle.

As the scout approached the top, he felt the ground shuddering beneath Bhurn’s heavy steps. Even if he did reach the crest first, Tavis realized, there would be no time to put his advantage to good use. When his head reached eye-level with the top of the ridge, he stopped and lay on his belly.

The crown of Bhurn’s pointed head appeared an instant later. Unlike Meorf, he approached carefully and quietly, peering over the crest to see what all the yelling was about Tavis jumped up, his arrow aimed directly at the giant’s huge eyeball.

Bhurn froze instantly. “Not little fella!” he gasped. “Stupid firbolg!”

“I am a firbolg,” Tavis answered.

“Oh, no!” Bhurn’s eyes gleamed silver with recognition. “You Tavis Burdun!”

“That’s right.” Tavis was as famous among giants as he was among humans, though the giants considered him more a dark avenger than a savior. “How did Dekz know about the castle’s secret tunnel?”

The emotion drained from the giant’s face. “Bhurn not tell.” He pinched his eyes shut in fear, then started to raise his club. “Bhurn die honorable.”

“If you wish.” Tavis loosed his arrow.

Bhurn fell in silence, and the scout retreated down the slope. He finished Gragg with a merciful arrow, then began the long climb to close Earl Cuthbert’s secret passage.