Giants lc-1 Page 16

“If you want another drink of water,” Herrek whispered, “you’ll have to march after me.” He turned toward the distant lake and began moving.

  Gens made a ghastly sound of despair, but arose and followed. Joash and Adah did likewise.

  In such a manner the day dragged on. Ashes rested in their mouths. Their faces were black, and their clothes sooty. By nightfall, they’d consumed all the water. Still, somehow, they staggered. Herrek would not let them halt. Gens at last succumbed and fell onto his face. He raved about his slain stallions. Herrek and Joash helped him up. Adah walked like an automaton, now using the sides of her feet. The journey was bitter agony, and they feared least the sabertooths return.

  “Run!” Herrek whispered.

  What he saw, the others didn’t see, but by the light of the moon, they staggered faster. At last, they sprawled onto the heated ground and heaved air. Every muscle hurt. Somehow, Herrek made them stand again and stagger for the lake.

  Around midnight, as Joash hallucinated about Ard and a water-spring, he staggered unknowingly into the lake. He fell and sucked water, not even aware that he’d dragged Adah down. Herrek yanked him by the hair and pushed him to shore. Adah shortly lay beside him.

  When they had slept and rested for an hour, they crawled to a bonfire where men slept. To their amazement, and croaks of joy, they found Lord Uriah and a war party of charioteers.

  At last, they were safe.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Trolock

  Woe to him who says to wood, “Come to life!” Or to lifeless stone, “Wake up!”

  — Habakkuk 2:19

  He waited in the darkness. The others who had awakened had been brutally slain. But he had watched and waited, and had judged the prowess of the grave robbers. A First Born had dared to handle the Master’s weapons, and had turned the weapons against those the Master had loved best. The First Born had dared to profane the awesome lich, and had dared to lay his hands on that which was inviolate.

  Such sacrilege must be avenged.

  Thus, he waited, even though he ached to move again, to lift his stony arms and to look once more upon the forgotten world of men.

  So long, so very long ago he had been chosen, taken down a dark cave and then…

  He moaned, and dared to move.

  Once he had been Lord Skarpaler, a blond-haired warchief of the Bloodspillers, a champion who had marched south together with the Nameless One’s Niflmen. But his master had been Draugr Trolock-Maker. And with the sudden approach of Arioch the Archangel…

  His moaning increased. He adjusted his limbs, making the sound of grinding stones as he did. He lifted his head, but saw nothing in the crypt’s eternal murk. He sensed, however, released spirits. Perhaps that is what had awakened him.

  For millennia, he had waited. For millennia, he had listened to the Master rave about those who had entombed him. They had all quailed before Draugr’s rage, and they had all worshipped him in unholy terror. He had bidden them to make terrible promises. And they had made them. In the end, the Master disdained movement. He glared at them, and they discerned over time that his life seeped away. At last, he expired to go to a place of greater torment.

  But, they couldn’t leave.

  Nor, because of their horrible oaths, could they slay each other. They waited. They went mad. They grew drowsy. At last, they grew still as the Master had grown still, and they pondered in hellish silence the exchange they had once thought so glorious.

  He had once been called Lord Skarpaler, the warchief of the Bloodspillers. The shores of a cold northern lake had been his home. His wives had loved him. He’d had many children, and he’d been accounted a mighty warrior, a champion.

  That was lost, gone forever. It was dust to dust, ashes to ashes. He was an abomination, a trolock, a servant bound to a departed master. Only one goal, one thought, one mission, dominated his awakened spirit. He must punish the trespassers. He must slay the profaners of the crypt.

  Inch by inch he moved about the crypt. His stone hands roved over his slain brothers. His anger grew. He bowed low before the Master, and then he rose and straightened the bones the trespassers had so rudely moved.

  The broken weapons he touched brought back painful memories. Lord Skarpaler—

  “No,” he said. “I am not he. I am the Avenger. I am the Doom from the Crypt. I am no longer a mortal man.”

  He gathered his courage, and for a time he felt the fleshy corpse. It was strange, so very strange. He shook his head, marveling that an age ago he had been made out of such weak substance. It was madness. The Master had bestowed a great gift on him. He clenched his hands. After an age of slumber, he was awake. He must learn who the new powers were. He must be wary of them until he understood their strengths. But first he must slay the profane First Born and his companion giant.

  After his courage and rage boiled to a frightful pitch, he went to the door and forced it open. He trod up the steep incline and came to the cave entrance.

  Outside, the stars blinded him by their brightness. He had forgotten that such wonders existed. For uncounted centuries, the Shining One-made wall had barred them from the living world. How could he have forgotten such beauty? He could almost remember the touch of his long-lost wives. Such thoughts, however, would lead him to madness.

  It was several hours before he moved. His awe of the stars and the soft waft of a breeze—he moaned, wondering once more upon the price of his exchange. He looked at his stony body. It still seemed so strange.

  “No,” he rumbled. “I am strong, indestructible, a foe to all those who hate or hated my Master. I will survive until the end of the Age. I will destroy all who deserve death.”

  By a facility given him upon his making, the trolock followed the trail of the First Born who had robbed Draugr’s Crypt.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Seraphs

  No razor may be used on his head, because the boy is to be a Nazirite.

  — Judges 13:5

  Joash bolted upright, his face sweaty. He looked around and saw grooms on night-duty. He frowned. A moment ago, trolocks had held him down, waiting for Tarag to slash him with the adamant sword. He sagged back onto his mat. The stars overhead blazed with glory, and he was exhausted. Every muscle and joint ached. Maybe that’s why he’d had the nightmare. He rolled over and fumbled among his belongings, found his water-skin, uncorked it, and drank his fill. Unfortunately, the movement woke him up more than before, and he was so exhausted that he was almost too tired to fall back asleep. He’d been sleeping fitfully for half the night.

  After putting the water-skin away, he noticed that Adah sat at one of the fires, staring into the flames. She’d wrapped herself in her colorful cloak, and her head nodded. She must be exhausted, but something kept her up. Maybe she had nightmares, too. Maybe after all she’d gone through in Poseidonis, being in the presence of a First Born again had shaken her all over again. He felt sorry for her. Maybe he should go over and console her, put his arm around her. As he pondered about getting up, he drifted back to sleep.

  In the morning, it was torture to move. His muscles screamed, and his eyes felt like gravel pits. He rolled his mat, ran his fingers through his hair, and splashed water on his face.

  “Go take a swim,” Herrek suggested. The warrior sat nearby, having his face tended to. Amery, a young girl, ministered to Herrek. Amery was Herrek’s niece, being Jeremoth’s daughter.

  Joash bathed along with a few other runners.

  “Is it true you’re a groom now?” a runner asked.

  “Yes,” Joash said.

  Joash held his breath and ducked underwater. It felt good, and it woke him up. He surfaced, scooped sand from the bottom, and scrubbed his skin until it was red. It would be nice to use soap, but he didn’t have any in his kit, and he didn’t feel like asking anyone else to use theirs. They’d start asking him questions, and he wasn’t ready to answer or fabricate a tale. Adah had told him to keep quiet about what had happened. For the time being, only
Lord Uriah and Zillith would be told the truth.

  He scrubbed his clothes and went to a fire.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Gens, his eyes red.

  “Tired,” Joash mumbled.

  Shaggy-bearded Karim, wearing chainmail, sat down by the fire. “So you’re a groom now, eh?”

  “Yes, Warrior.”

  “Herrek says he’s been teaching you to throw a spear,” Karim said.

  “He has,” Joash said, grimly recalling the night training.

  Thick Othniel sat down, and his son Beker sat beside him. “You look tired. Drink some tea.” Othniel nodded to his son. Beker poured tea into a tin cup and handed it to Joash.

  “Thanks.” Joash sipped the scalding liquid.

  Another runner turned sizzling sausages in a pan. “These are for you,” the runner told Joash.

  Joash’s stomach rumbled. He was ravenous.

  Othniel laughed. “I’m glad to see you alive.” He frowned. “Elidad, Brand, and Ard all died, I hear.”

  Joash nodded.

  “Was it the old sabertooth who killed Jeremoth?”

  “Yes, Warrior,” Joash said, his eyes on the sizzling sausages.

  “Herrek says he slew the terrible beast,” Karim said.

  Joash nodded.

  “Good,” Karim said gruffly. “And a good thing you didn’t meet up with any more giants.”

  Joash nodded, aware that Karim shrewdly stared at him in the sudden silence.

  “You really didn’t meet any more giants, eh?” Othniel asked as he scratched his face, studying Joash. “We came across many giant tracks.”

  “Groom,” Herrek called. “Come get your new spear.”

  “Save those sausages for me,” Joash told the runner, before he hurried to Herrek.

  “Don’t let them squeeze the tale out of you,” Herrek whispered, handing him a spear.

  Joash wrinkled his nose. The ointment on Herrek’s bandaged face smelled. He nodded, however, and accepted the new spear. He went back to the fire, finished his tea and devoured the sausages.

  “By the looks of you, it must have been rough,” Othniel said.

  Joash nodded with a full mouth.

  Horns blared. Dogs barked. Lord Uriah’s standard-bearer lifted the Gyr Falcon banner. One by one, the charioteers climbed aboard their chariots. Like Herrek, however, a few of the charioteers were without vehicles. They would march in the company of the grooms and runners, and with the spearmen who made up Lord Uriah’s guard. The rest of the expedition was at the main camp. Joash learned from Beker that Captain Maharbal had arrived at the island off the coast. Yesterday, a small boat of Further Tarshmen had rowed to the beach. This morning, no doubt, herders would lead the steppe stallions aboard the barges brought expressly for that purpose. The herders would be working hard all day. Joash didn’t envy them, and for the first time he was in no hurry to return to camp.

  Another horn blared. The signal came from the standard-bearer, a warrior who wore a two-lion emblem for bravery around his thick neck. Two chariots rattled ahead, runners and dogs racing behind them. They were the scouts. The rest of the chariots rolled at a horse-walking pace.

  The rising sun glinted off the charioteers’ proud lance-heads, while from somewhere in the distance an orn screeched. The lake, with the sunlight slanting off it, was beautiful.

  Joash was glad to be alive, even if his body ached. Herrek and Gens were in a chariot, having traded places with the lowest-ranked Teman Clan charioteer. Adah rode with Lord Uriah. Only he had to walk, but that was all right. Two big dogs kept him company, and Beker kept talking, trying to pry more of the tale out of him. Joash just shouldered his new spear, stared at the lake, and caught glimpses of jumping trout. He hoped Adah was all right. He also wondered how she’d treat him now that they were back with the others. She hadn’t met his glance this morning, and that troubled him.

  “You must have seen more giants,” Beker was saying. “The tracks my father talked about were near the boulders where we found that old sabertooth’s carcass.”

  “Huh?” Joash asked.

  “I thought that would startle you.”

  They moved to the left as dust rose from the chariot ahead of them.

  Joash pondered Beker’s revelation as they traveled alongside the lake. The pace was sharp. In the distance dire wolves chased a herd of horses. A small colt struggled to keep up with the herd. The dire wolves closed in.

  Joash’s mouth went dry. All the fine feelings of safety he’d been having fled. The wolves reminded him that the steppes were a dangerous place. Tarag, Mimir, and savage sabertooths were nearby, and by what Beker said apparently more giants. The Elonite expedition to Giant Land was anything but safe. Tarag had gone to great lengths to acquire adamant armor and weapons. Surely Tarag had reasons for doing so, and just as surely, he didn’t want anybody else knowing about it. Joash swallowed. They were all in danger.

  Joash noticed that they weren’t headed toward the main camp at Hori Cove. He said as much to Beker, and Beker agreed.

  Joash looked back and saw Amery. She was the girl who had tended Herrek’s wound. She was Lord Uriah’s runner. Just like him, she’d lost her parents. She was Jeremoth’s daughter. He wondered if she’d kicked Old Three-Paws’s carcass. He would have in her place. Amery had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and small bronze earrings. She was a smart runner and missed little. Joash knew Lord Uriah was fond of her, and he’d listened to Amery say more than once that her great, great, great grandfather would someday find her a prince to marry. He also knew that Amery liked him.

  Joash steered himself beside her. “Are we returning to the main camp?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” asked Joash.

  Amery smiled. “I’ll trade you a secret for a secret.”

  Joash became thoughtful.

  “I’ll tell you where we’re headed, if you tell me who really slew your horses and smashed your chariots.”

  Joash eyed her.

  “Nothing for nothing,” she said.

  He knew Amery could keep a secret, and he knew she eavesdropped a lot on Lord Uriah. She reminded him of a sharp-eared fox. Even her smile had a hint of mischievousness.

  “Sorry,” Joash said. He didn’t need her to tell him anymore. They were headed toward the next good beach. That was obvious now that he thought about it. Giant Land’s coast was rocky, with only a few good places to land ships. Maybe because of Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths Lord Uriah had decided to use another route to the ships. The Patriarch could be sly that way.

  Amery grinned. “That you won’t say means sabertooths didn’t kill the horses and smash the chariots. Since more giant tracks have been seen, I bet giants did the destroying.”

  Joash gaped at her for only a moment. Then he shrugged.

  Amery gave him an impish grin.

  Joash scowled and walked faster. She was quick, that Amery. He was troubled, however. Lord Uriah wished to leave Giant Land from a new beach. That he took such a precaution meant that the Patriarch was worried, and that worried Joash. But Lord Uriah should be worried. Tarag, Mimir, and sabertooths were near, and maybe even more giants. What would happen once Tarag learned his sabertooths hadn’t killed them?

  Joash wanted to run all the way to the beach. The sooner they left Giant Land, the better.

  “Joash!”

  The standard-bearer shouted. The thick-necked warrior pointed at Lord Uriah’s chariot. Adah was no longer in it but rode with Herrek and Gens. Joash ran and climbed aboard Lord Uriah’s chariot. It was just the two of them.

  Lord Uriah nodded.

  Joash gulped and nodded back. Lord Uriah had such wise seeming and cunning eyes. The Patriarch of Elon wore gleaming chainmail and had a long slender sword belted at his side. He drove his chariot-team with skill and ease. His white beard and mustache were well groomed, and sprinkled with rosewater. Still, there was an odor of ale about the chariot. Joash noticed a corked ale-skin hanging from a peg.

/>   “I’ve heard of your deeds,” Lord Uriah said. “You did well in the cave.”

  Joash blushed, but a part of him noticed that Lord Uriah’s breath smelled like ale.

  “Know, young one, that it pleases me to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Lord.”

  Lord Uriah drove in silence. “I do what I do in order to make the world a safer place for those whom I care about.”

  Joash listened, but was bewildered as to why he was being told this.

  “Look at Amery.”

  Joash did. She petted one of the dogs as Eber talked to her. Joash knew Eber was crazy about her.

  “She is of my blood.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Her father was slain by Old Three-Paws, her mother killed by raiding Shurites. Now I protect her, thus I keep her at my side. Unfortunately there are many like Amery, many of mine who have been hurt, or will be hurt. Yet there are more terrible things out there, Joash, than mere beasts or raiders. There are beings that plan great evil. These beings must be stopped. Otherwise the world will suffer even worse pain. And then, my kin shall know even greater sorrow and suffering. That I would stop, if I can.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Because of that, I sometimes send grooms into frightful danger. Because of that, young men sometimes have to grow up quickly.”

  Joash’s chest felt hollow. What was Lord Uriah saying?

  “Our world can be a harsh place, Joash. Once, however, it was harsher still. Shining Ones were sent to help humanity. Now we must help ourselves overcome the legacy of that time.”

  Lord Uriah uncorked his ale-skin and took a swallow. He offered some to Joash, but he declined.

  “You are gifted in ways that you don’t yet understand,” Lord Uriah said. “And you have been severely tested these last few days. I am glad you passed the tests.” Lord Uriah studied him. There seemed to be pain in his eyes. “Because of who I am I make many difficult decisions. Thank you for keeping a little more blood off my hands. I cannot apologize for where you were sent, but I can rejoice in your return.” Lord Uriah put a hand on Joash’s shoulder.