A Plague of Giants

by Kevin Hearne

Grunts of assent met this declaration, and all thirty-two of them followed me south. We weren’t speedy, but we traveled faster than my family’s wagon. The Seekers had almost nothing in the way of burdens, and my horse with its small cart was nearly brisk compared with the wart yaks. And for a night and a day it was a hopeful journey for us all. Tamhan was liked and admired by everyone, and I envied his easy way with people.

  But unlike the Seekers—unlike myself—Tamhan had a family. One that had just enjoyed dinner with Viceroy Bhamet Senesh and had his ear. One that could check the records at the Hunter Gate, see that their son had left the city walls in the company of what they would consider river vermin, and force the viceroy to act.

  So just after sunset on the second day I wasn’t surprised to hear the rolling drumbeat of approaching hooves. With my new senses I could tell that they were horses and not some other herd of animals. Our campfires were lit—we had six—and I had looked into the blaze of ours, and so my vision had to adjust to the darkness before I could see them. I asked Murr and Eep to stay out of sight, and they melted into the darkness. My eyes shifted more quickly than they usually would, owing no doubt to my kenning, and I spied the small company of city cavalry approaching. I knew before they reined in and spoke to us why they had come: they were there for Tamhan, and it made me sad. Not sad that he was cared for—it was perfect and wonderful and right that he should be—but that the rest of us were somehow less than he, unworthy of being saved because our parents were either dead or poor. The viceroy would feed and supply and risk these cavalrymen for Tamhan, the son of his crony, but not do anything to make sure the rest of us had food.

  The cavalrymen sorted themselves into an arrowhead formation. A wedge, I guess, but with nothing filling the center. They had crossbows and looked like they were searching for an excuse to use them.

  The leader, in the front of the wedge, barked out a query, staring directly at our fire: “Which one of you is Tamhan Khatri?” And I wanted to shout back at him, “You already know he’s the one with nice clothes!” but it wouldn’t have made my life any better, so I bit back my reply.

  Tamhan volunteered that he was himself, and the mounted soldier said, “We’re here to escort you back to the city.”

  Tamhan shrugged. “That’s kind of you, but I don’t wish to go back to the city.”

  The soldier’s voice dripped with condescension as he explained, “It’s dangerous out here, son.”

  “I assure you that I’m in no danger at all and I am here of my own free will. Everyone is, in fact.” He spread his hands to the seekers. “If any of you are here against your will and wish for the soldiers to take you back to Khul Bashab, please speak up now.”

  There was absolute silence apart from the crackle of fires and the snorting of winded horses.

  “The rest of these can get eaten if they want,” the soldier said, a captain if I was reading his shoulder markings correctly, “but I’ve been ordered by the viceroy to bring you back safely.”

  “Fine. I’ll be heading back in a few days, and you can ride along if you want.”

  “Your parents—and the viceroy—want you back now.”

  “I don’t particularly care what they want. The plains are open for everyone to walk in.”

  “That’s true except when it’s my job to bring you back. Discuss it with them.”

  “Let them discuss it in a few days,” I said, breaking in. “Protect him if you must, and we’ll return with you when we’re finished. Everyone’s happy that way.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Abhinava Khose.”

  “Oh, so you’re the one who started all this. Viceroy Senesh orders you back to the city for questioning.”

  Snorting, I said, “About what? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You’ve persuaded a lot of children to abandon their families, and that is worth questioning at least and sinister at worst.”

  “Can you name any of their families besides Tamhan’s? No? I thought not. Many of them don’t have a family anymore. Madhep here has been on his own for three years, and it’s a rough life when you don’t have a father who can send out soldiers to look after you. They want to seek a kenning of their own free will, and I’m taking them there. You can come, too, if you want.”

  “I’m not a gullible child. Your claims of a kenning are ridiculous, and you need to come with us now.”

  “Sorry, I’m not going to do that. I’ve broken no laws, and you have no authority to take me anywhere.”

  “Our authority comes from the viceroy.” He raised his crossbow and pointed it at my chest, a ridiculous escalation in response to my pointing out the truth.

  “But mostly from that weapon, since the viceroy isn’t here.”

  “Come with us now.”

  “You speak patiently with Tamhan Khatri because his parents are privileged to know the viceroy personally, but I am immediately threatened with violence? We are supposed to be equal citizens and we are equally walking in the plains, harming no one. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m following my orders, and I will bring you both back. How you go is up to you.”

  Tamhan spoke up. “We have already stated that we will gladly return with you after the Seeking. The Sixth Kenning is real.”

  “Let me give you a completely harmless demonstration of my abilities,” I said before the captain could reply. “I will ask your horse to take two steps backward.”

  “Don’t do that,” the captain said.

  “It will put your doubts to rest, and we can be more productive if we are working from the same facts.” I dropped my eyes to his horse and asked it to please take two slow steps backward. It’s not something a horse would think to do on its own without prodding or a fright, and the soldiers all knew that much even if the rest of the Seekers didn’t. The horse obeyed, and the captain lowered his crossbow to grab its reins in a futile attempt to stop it from moving after it already had moved. The other soldiers’ eyes widened, and a few of them muttered mild oaths of surprise. Unfortunately, the captain did not view this with the sense of wonder and excitement I had hoped for. He pointed his crossbow at me again.

  “That’s enough. Start walking back to the city now.”

  “Think about it, please, Captain. I might look unarmed, but you’re in the Nentian plains, surrounded by animals. And as you just saw, those animals tend to do what I say.”

  “Don’t threaten me.”

  I spread my arms wide, palms up. “Who is pointing a weapon right now? You are threatening me when I have done nothing wrong. You should be ashamed.”

  “Last chance. You can agree to walk or I’ll drop you.”

  There was no getting through to this man. His stubbornness reminded me of my father, as did that ultimatum. And I knew what he would do when I said, “No,” and I said it anyway, ready for what would come next.

  The captain tensed and pulled the trigger in a syrupy slowness that was actually my quickened speed and senses. I was already moving out of the way of the shot. But as I was moving out of the way, Madhep and Tamhan were moving in, waving their hands and shouting for him to wait, and my panicked “No!” was much louder than my calm refusal to the captain. I had not been ready at all for their interference. The bolt launched and sank deep into Madhep’s chest with a sickening, juicy crunch and knocked him back into Tamhan and then me. We tumbled backward together, and he coughed blood and groaned. Tamhan and I knelt over him, and I cradled his neck in my arms, searching for life in his eyes. He was still there. He looked at the bolt shaft sticking out of his chest and then up at me.

  “I just wanted …” he said, blood bubbling on his lips, a wet cough splattering us, “… wanted to talk to animals,” and then his eyes lost focus.

  “No no no no no, not again,” I murmured. Why did I never see this coming? The captain was reloading. His soldiers were bringing their crossbows to bear, pointing them in the general direction of the Seekers as an unspoken warning, and I could see the othe
rs cowering already at the display of force. And I had never wanted anyone dead so much as those uniformed men at that moment. The captain had killed Madhep, who had done nothing to deserve a quarrel in his chest, and would have killed me for refusing to submit to his authority.

  “Stand ready,” the captain was saying to his men. “If anyone resists, shoot them. You, Khose. You know I’m serious now. Come along for questioning or you’ll be meat.”

  “No, I rather think you’ll be the meat here,” I said, laying Madhep’s head down gently and rising to my feet, fists clenched and trembling at my sides. I felt the rage building in my head so intensely that my ears buzzed with it, the air chopped with pressure, and I felt somewhat dizzy.

  The captain smirked at me, utterly confident that he could casually kill us all and get away with it. “How? I don’t think so.”

  A burrow wasp flying at top speed smacked audibly into his right check and stung him. He winced and cursed, slapping at it. Another followed, and a few more annoyed the other soldiers, and the buzzing sound in the night grew louder. The horrifying source of it flowed out of the black, a dark seething mass of wasps and other insects, glinting in places from firelight on wings or reflective carapaces, and they engulfed the soldiers like gloves made of tar. Screams ripped out of their mouths, and then they were choked off—perhaps with a flood of insects flying and crawling down their throats and up their noses. They dropped their crossbows in an effort to bat away the bugs, and the horses bucked and ran even though they were not specifically targeted. Every one of the riders fell off his horse, and the cloud of insects followed them to the ground, and seconds later the men stopped their thrashing and lay still. The horses were never bitten, only scared, and the same held true for everyone else. The Seekers scattered into the darkness with the horses, afraid that the swarms would come after them next. But I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself and said, “Enough, be at peace,” and the insects lifted away from the bodies of the soldiers and dispersed into the night. I called the soldiers’ horses to come back and gather near my horse and cart and then stepped forward to examine the body of the captain, a bit tired and unsteady on my feet.

  The captain’s face was a swollen mass of stings, a misshapen lump of inflamed tissue. His mouth was open and filled with dead bugs, and spindly sawtoothed legs stuck out of his nostrils. “I guess that’s how I’ll kill you,” I said, surprised more than anything else. I hadn’t consciously summoned the swarms to do my bidding; in the aftermath of Madhep’s murder I just wanted the viceroy’s men dead, and it happened. But I supposed that made me a murderer, too. And Madhep was still gone.

  Somebody made retching noises in the darkness, and I looked around. A few of the Seekers were coming back into the firelight now that the swarms had departed and discovering the ruin the insects had left behind. Their eyes swept over the bodies of the soldiers and then flicked to my face, wide and fearful, clearly wondering if they would suffer a similar fate.

  “It’s safe,” I announced. “Nothing will hurt you.”

  “Abhi? You look a bit taller,” Tamhan said. “And older.”

  I looked down at my hands as if they would reflect my accurate age. They looked no different. “I do?”

  “He’s right,” a girl said. “You’ve aged a little. You’re bigger.”

  That explained my dizziness and weariness. And it settled the question of what the Sixth Kenning could do. My earlier reflections on the potential strength of the insect world came back to me.

  “You’ve all seen the power of the Sixth Kenning now,” I said. “I am the world’s first plaguebringer.”

  The assembled refugees on Survivor Field stood and roared their approval, giving the Raelech bard his second standing ovation. I noted that both times this had followed some adventure of Abhinava’s. I hoped that this obvious delight in a Nentian hero would quell the unrest among the expatriates living in Pelemyn.

  Fintan’s tale of Abhi coming into his full powers along with the portrayal of one of their viceroys as a ruthless murderer certainly entertained the refugees and the citizens of Pelemyn, but it sent the local Nentians into a fit, dashing my hopes that our obvious high regard for Abhi would soothe their wounded egos. A longshoreman sent by the pelenaut’s Lung picked me up at home and recounted the night’s tumult as he escorted me to meet Fintan.

  “We had to move him twice in the night, and him complaining the entire time about ruining what little sleep he can get. The Nentians are paying for information on his whereabouts and sending in hired fish heads to gut him. I see you have your sword. Good.”

  “What? We’re going to be in danger?”

  “Almost certainly. You’ll be delighted to hear we have a plan, though.”

  “Oh, indeed! My delight is boundless. So vast that I cannot think how best to express it. Do I get to hear the plan?”

  “We’re taking you back to the chowder house you visited a couple of days ago. It’s quite busy now thanks to the bard telling everyone about it.”

  “It will be a terrible place to work, then.”

  “But a great place to be seen and attacked.”

  “What? I guess I should have asked if your plan was a good one. This does not sound good.”

  The longshoreman grinned at me. “It’s going to be fine as long as you don’t get killed.”

  “Look, that could just as easily be said of pudding or sex or life itself. It’s not the hallmark of a good plan.”

  “It’s the pelenaut’s plan, all right? He wants you to live, believe me. Just have some lunch and write your story. But keep an eye on your surroundings. You wouldn’t want a dagger slipped between your ribs when you’re not looking.”

  “This is not comforting.”

  “Don’t worry; you’ll have some company keeping a closer eye on you than normal. You’ll be totally safe. Probably.”

  “You’re kind of a rotten whale dong, you know that?”

  The longshoreman threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, I know.” He pointed out a pair of extra mariners loitering inside the doors of the High Tide Chowder House and two more sitting at a table closer to the kitchen. There were few seats available and a line that threatened to extend outside very soon. Fintan already was seated in the far corner across from a young woman and smiled as he waved me over. It was a larger table with benches for seats, graced with two orange candles instead of one. I approved of the location and took my seat next to him with our backs to the wall; no one would be able to sneak up behind us.

  “I’ve already ordered you a bowl and a beer,” he said, and then nodded toward the woman, who had her hair cropped short around her skull and appeared to be amused. I wondered what Fintan had told her about me before I joined them. “Master Dervan du Alöbar, I present to you Gerstad Nara du Fesset. She’s part of the story, actually. You’ll be hearing of her adventures later.” She snorted in response to this, then smiled at me, dimples on either side of a wide mouth, pearls in her ears gleaming by candlelight.

  “He’s exaggerating. Eating this chowder is going to be the most adventure I’ve had in months.”

  “Nice to meet you. A gerstad, eh? We rate an officer now?”

  “For today, anyway,” she said.

  “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

  Her eyes shifted around, and then she put a hand to the side of her mouth as if someone might be lip-reading. “We’re being clever,” she said in a loud, dramatic whisper. “They’ll never know what hit them.”

  “Who are they, exactly?”

  “If they show up, we expect most of them will be dockside fish heads desperate for coin. But one of them should be a Nentian bruiser the Lung has identified as the tip of the harpoon on these attacks. He’s a semiretired caravan guard from Ar Balesh, and it’s his former employers who are financing this.”

  “Old, rich expatriates of Ghurana Nent who live here for the clean water and access to hygienists?” Fintan asked.

  “Precisely. He’s been either spotted o
r reported to be involved in the attempts to assassinate you, but we haven’t been able to isolate him yet.”

  “Why not go after the money?” I asked.

  She paused while a server deposited bowls of chowder in front of us and returned with beers and a board of bread and butter. “The pelenaut likes taxes,” she said, “especially right now, and the Nentian expatriates pay plenty of them. So the objective is to go after the errand boy. If the elderly have no one to do their dirty work, then it won’t get done.”

  “But why not put pressure on these Nentians to stop seeking my death?” Fintan asked.

  “They’re so obvious and loud about what they’re doing that it’s pointing us to criminals that the constabulary has been seeking out for a long while. They’re leading us to some truly dangerous fish heads, so we don’t want them to stop. But don’t worry: the Lung is positioning someone to take over operations once we eliminate their current man. The Nentians will pay him to hunt you down, and he will pass on the money and information to us and do nothing. The pelenaut looks at it as a tax on their stupidity.” We shared a laugh at that, and she asked to be excused for a moment. “I’d like to wash up before eating. Would that be okay?”

  Fintan shrugged. “Sure.”

  “We Brynts can get obsessive about hygiene. Sorry. I’ll be right back.”

  The gerstad left us, and Fintan and I clinked glasses and sampled the beer while we waited for her return. The noise drew eyes in our direction from the line, and someone near us recognized Fintan. “Hey! It’s the bard!” a boy said, pointing with one hand and tugging on his mother’s sleeve with the other, and I realized that the gerstad had been blocking Fintan from view until she rose from the table. At that point in Pelemyn, Fintan was the bard—the kid couldn’t be talking about anyone else—so there were assorted gasps and tiny exclamations at spotting a famous person doing something normal, such as eating and drinking.

  Fintan grinned at the boy and then the room. “The chowder’s so good here, I came back for more!” he announced. He held aloft his drink and wished them good health, and many glasses were raised in return. It was very warm and congenial for a few seconds there. Then my eyes drifted to the entrance, at the back of the line, where a group of men looked less than pleased. They looked instead like predators that had just spotted their prey, brows hooding their eyes and muscles tensing along their shoulders. And when they stepped out of line and began to push past people, drawing blades of varying lengths out of their belts, I chucked Fintan on the shoulder.