by Kevin Hearne
Luren took the left flank, and he assigned Galen to the right. She was excellent with the spear but was our least accurate archer.
Sören didn’t need to be told he could start pulling water out of giant heads as soon as he could target them. Using his kenning that way was faster, more accurate, and 100 percent more deadly than archery.
Brön let fly first, and a grunt from the northern woods told me he’d hit someone. I saw a washboard of rib bones flash between the trees, and I let fly. It flickered and went down, revealing another behind it. I let fly twice more, and the others were likewise shooting as fast as possible. I had no idea if we were getting close to dropping them all, but I saw plenty in my field of vision and doubted I’d get another shot. They were close enough that I could see the dark-painted hollows around their eyes, and those swords would hack us down. I was about to shout that we switch to spears when Galen erupted from the right flank.
“Gravemaw inbound!” she said, and I whirled to locate it but saw that Galen was pointing to the northeast, not directly east. I followed the direction just in time to see the gravemaw leap into the Bone Giants’ left flank and startle some actual screams from them. The beast wrapped its obscene muscular tongue around the midsection of one of the giants and yanked it toward its open mouth of scissor teeth. It crunched down into the giant and his blood gouted like juices from a ripe cherry tomato, his legs severed on one end and dropping to the forest floor like firewood and his head and shoulders falling to the other. The middle of him simply disappeared into that mouth, and he was chewed a few times before being swallowed, except the gravemaw didn’t stop moving. It plowed through the giants, trampling a couple and savoring their cries of terror as it did so. They swung at the gravemaw, but their swords did no damage to the impenetrable armor of the beast. It may have even smiled, knowing that they couldn’t hurt it and that it could eat another of them as soon as it felt ready for a second course.
“Keep shooting at the giants!” I ordered, realizing that this was a pearl of a chance to reduce their numbers even more. We got off two more flights, and Mynstad Luren might have taken three before one of the Bone Giants shouted some kind of order and the giants disengaged from the gravemaw to refocus on us. The giant was one of those starburst-bearded ones, obviously an officer.
The gravemaw ate him next, the tongue snaking out and whipping him around to bash his skull against a tree trunk before drawing him into those yawning jaws, but the giants followed his last order and came for us.
“Spears!” I said. “Spread to arm’s length. Don’t let them take a swing at you!”
That was all I had time for before they were on us, and we were too tightly bunched. Close formation was ideal when we had shields, but in this case we needed room to dodge and had little room to maneuver. So those tactics I’d worried about before—disregard for their personal safety and willingness to take a spear so the next giant behind them could take a swing—worked their terrible effect on us. Galen’s spear got mired in the guts of one giant and she couldn’t disengage before another cut her down, but I speared him through the throat and sidestepped the swing of another. I lashed out with my foot and kicked him over while he was off-balance and plunged my spear down into his chest.
It was nearly over then, and I saw that two other mariners had fallen. Sören was pulling water as fast as he could out of giant brains and having a devastating effect, but he was clearly looking at two coming in his direction while two others came after Brön.
Luren and Gyrsön saw his danger at the same time as I did, and we all moved to help, but muscles never move quite so fast as thoughts. Brön successfully skewered the lead giant but could not avoid the blade of the second arcing down from on high, and our spears arrived a split second too late to save him. It was quick for him, because the strike split his skull, but I knew we’d replay his death in our minds so long as we lived, wishing each time we had moved a tiny bit faster. Brön was not merely our hygienist; he was our longtime friend. The last giant fell with three spears in him, and only five Brynts and a gravemaw were left standing. The gravemaw looked at us with eyes half-lidded in postprandial bliss, speculating on whether we slightly smaller animals might represent an after-luncheon dessert course but apparently deciding against it. The beast belched like thunder before skulking away to the east, belly distended with the flesh of two giants and a significant digestive challenge ahead.
“Let the gravemaw go, Sören,” I said. “It’s the only reason we’re still standing. They would have overwhelmed us otherwise.”
There was indeed a litter of bodies around where the gravemaw had attacked, most of the dead sporting arrow shafts. That extra time to let loose arrows was no doubt the difference in the battle.
“Stay alert. Finish them all. And I want a tally.”
Our dead were definitely dead; the Bone Giants did not deal blows from which one could recover. But a few of the fallen giants were still alive, until we delivered spear thrusts to their throats.
We counted forty-seven whole giants; the remains of the two the gravemaw had eaten made forty-nine. Unfortunately, it had also eaten the officer’s satchel, so I’d not have the opportunity to take any additional intelligence.
I set Sören and Luren to watch and defend us from any further scavengers while I built a cairn for our dead, with Gyrsön and our last remaining mariner. The scavengers did come, but they went after the Bone Giants, mostly, and left us alone, since we represented work and the dead did not.
“We’ll come back for them,” I vowed. “We’ll get them buried properly at sea. I want this area marked. Carve the trees. Tie strips of cloth on the branches. But then we must move directly south until we reach the Gravewater. We have to get this intelligence back to the quartermaster.”
The band was silent as we worked, apart from the occasional sniffle. I felt an ache and a release in my chest, fresh sorrow at losing Brön and Galen and the others mixed with relief at our victory and a spoonful of satisfaction that we’d denied them victories twice now. And then we moved quick, new urgency underneath our feet. They wouldn’t send any more after us until this band failed to report. The more distance we could put between us now, the better chances we had at staying ahead of them. Getting our report in would be a true taste of victory against an enemy who’d so far enjoyed little opposition from us, apart from tidal mariners.
We stumbled into our first camp, exhausted, but I took the first watch, because my mind was too wound up for sleep. I was second-guessing myself and missing Brön yet thrilled that we beat them and burning with the desire to fight more. I’d never get any rest that way. I needed something to focus on, some structure, and some peace. So I dug around in the papers we’d stolen, flipped over a sheet of what might be priceless intelligence, and found a clear space. I pricked my fingertip with my dagger and dipped a twig in the blood. Then I composed a cock sonnet in the dim light of our campfire while Gyrsön and Luren snored away.
It was uplifting.
I still had the knack, and when it was time to wake up the others, I went to sleep smiling.
We reached the banks of the Gravewater six days of hard marching later and marked up the spot so we’d be able to find it easily when we returned. From that spot, the bodies of our friends lay due north, and it also represented the last known position of the Bone Giant camp on the northern shore.
Sören ferried us one at a time across the Gravewater so that we could move quickly along the Merchant Trail. We had to actually drink from it and ingest some of its poison, since we no longer had a hygienist. It wouldn’t kill us right away, and once we met another hygienist, some of its effects could be reversed.
We turned out to be only a couple of hours away from Sturföd, and once there we went to the docks and took a boat. There was still no clean water to be had—the wells were all fouled—so Sören used his kenning to move us very quic
kly downstream to rest and recovery at Fornyd.
I ordered each of them to report to a hygienist first and to drink some clean water, while I went to report to the quartermaster.
“The pelenaut’s intelligence was correct,” I told Farlen du Cannym. “As of seven days ago, the Bone Giants had a force of nearly ten thousand almost due north of Sturföd, heading west. And I have more such intelligence,” I said, handing over the papers I took from the first officer, “at least if they’re not copies of the documents he’s already acquired.”
They couldn’t be exact copies, of course, because whatever the pelenaut had, he didn’t have a poem written in blood on the back of one sheet. I neglected to tell the quartermaster it was in there. I didn’t feel there was an appropriate way to explain it.
Quartermaster du Cannym was very sorry to hear we’d lost seven on the mission but was overall very pleased. We’d slain fifty-six, after all, counting that assist from the gravemaw, and brought her intelligence besides. She gave the Grynek Hunters commendations and permission to recruit a force to bury our fallen properly. “And of course you must have a new hygienist with you. You may take your pick of those I have at my command. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
It was an unexpected question; no quartermaster had ever volunteered to do anything for me before. She must have been really grateful for our service—or, I realized, she might be different from Grynek’s quartermaster. Maybe she always recognized service and sacrifice, rather than expecting it, and did what she could to show her appreciation.
I pondered a moment and then said, “I don’t know if it’s in your power, Quartermaster, but I’d like a proper reckoning with the Bone Giants, where we do more than scout. If the pelenaut is planning one and the Grynek Hunters can be a part of it, we’d sure like to be included.”
She nodded. “We all want a reckoning, I assure you. And I do believe one is coming. Rest for now, then bury your comrades properly. After that we’ll see what we can do to provide that reckoning. It might not come here, but if you’re willing to travel…?” She raised her eyebrows in a question as she trailed off.
“Aye, we’re very willing.”
“Then I promise you that chance, Gerstad du Löngren. And when the time comes, I hope you’ll strike a blow for me.”
It was a busy day at the docks and at the kitchen as well. Chef du Rödal was in a fine mood, and so was I. There were some staples now, thanks to that Raelech boat—cornmeal and flour and even some vegetables for me to chop again for the stews. Since the ships to Möllerud and Göfyrd had sailed with the morning tide, there was enough left over at breakfast for people to come through for seconds.
More ships came in, this time with cargoes for general sale, and true to Rölly’s word, the garrison oversaw everything and guarded all transfers. His flow studies and his plans could not avoid some hunger, but it looked like we had pushed starvation back for at least a little while longer.
“It won’t go so well tomorrow,” Fintan predicted. We were eating at the Roasted Sunchuck, which had opened again in response to food arriving.
“Why is that?”
“This is the first day of new security measures. The criminals took today to scope them out and spot weaknesses. Tomorrow or the next day, you’ll see something happen. If I were them, I’d hit the restaurants, because they’re not as locked down. No chance of running into a rapid, right? So Hollit and Orden should make sure they lock up tight tonight. Maybe hire some guards.”
“Why would they go after it so hard? We have enough now.”
“For now,” Fintan agreed. “But it’s not going to last, and the next ship is uncertain. The Raelech army is bringing food, but we don’t know how much. So for the next week or so, you have an environment where someone is going to want to hoard. To the abyss with everyone else, they want to make sure that their needs come first. You think the two men the pelenaut locked up yesterday are the only rich folks who think that way? Do you really think they’ll be deterred?”
I frowned at the inescapable sense he was making. “There could be someone eating here right now who’s scouting for a heist later.”
The bard nodded. “Or anyplace else that’s open and looks like it has a full larder.”
We worked after that and gave Hollit and Orden a friendly suggestion about increased security for a couple of weeks.
When it was time to go to the wall, Fintan wanted to sing a song of safe travels for all their friends who had left that morning to resettle Göfyrd and Möllerud. There was still a sea of people out there on Survivor Field, but it was not so teeming as it had been before.
Who remained? Those who had found jobs in the city, those who were planning on joining the counterstrike when it was launched, and those who were waiting for their old home city to be opened to resettlement again. There were plenty out there from Gönerled and Sturföd, and quite a few remained from Festwyf—people like Elynea, who had fled the invasion but had found reasons to stay in Pelemyn rather than return to their city, which was populated with ghosts now as far as they were concerned.
May the road be dry and kind to your feet
May the road bring many new friends to meet
May it bring you to good fortune and prosperity
May it be full of kindness, hope, and charity
May the road be safe and free of wagon ruts
May the squirrels and bandits stay away from your nuts
May the blessings of all the gods drape around your head
May our paths cross again some lucky day ahead.
“We’ll begin today in Talala Fouz, in the suddenly dangerous Fornish embassy,” Fintan said, before taking on the seeming of Ambassador Ken.
Moments before the men burst into the room, their knives out, I had allowed myself a small smile of contentment at the progress we were making at the embassy and at the teahouse. Information was flowing in and it appeared that the city might be on its way to recovery, thanks to the efforts of Hennedigha’s army. But matters were obviously not so well in hand as I thought.
The men spilling into my office are Hennedigha’s uniformed soldiers, and I throw up my hands in surrender, wondering if this is the end of my life. One of them is a lieutenant, perhaps a friend of the murderer in prison. Is this revenge, perhaps, where someone is thinking that if I go away, then so does the problem?
I say nothing, just wait for either talk or action.
They stop, seeing no one in the room but me, and the lieutenant speaks. “Ambassador, you’ll need to come with us.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. May I ask where we are going?”
“To see the king.”
“He didn’t need to send you. I would have come at his request.”
“Regardless. Let’s go.” He waves the tip of his knife toward the door, as if I did not know where the exit was.
“Certainly,” I tell him, and begin to move while keeping my hands raised. “But you also don’t need your weapons. I promise not to put up a fight.”
We have no thornhands on site and Mak is en route to Khul Bashab, or else these fellows would have had a very brief fight before they died. My staff protests and demands to know where I’m being taken as we leave the embassy, but they wisely stay away from the knifepoints.
“Take care of the Canopy,” I tell them, which sounds like an innocuous Fornish farewell to the Nentians, except that we’d never phrase it that way. That is instead a code phrase, and several of them nod to acknowledge that the message is received: I’m being taken against my will and might not return. They need to inform Pont and the leaders of my clan and wait for a response. It will likely be months before anything happens, but there will eventually be consequences for this—I hope.
I’m bundled into a carriage with the curtains drawn; there are no witnesses to my exit, other tha
n my staff.
We do not go to the palace, or such as it is at the moment. That would have been a short ride. Instead, we travel to one of the city gates—I’m not sure which one, with the curtains drawn—and pass through them after a brief stop.
My slim hope that this is a mistake is crushed. Anyone leaving the city walls in the company of soldiers is unlikely to be seen again.
When the carriage stops and I’m told to get out, there’s a small party waiting for me, and one of them is the king. There are no other civilians. There are, however, four posts planted in the ground, stained with blood and affixed with rusted shackles.
Melishev Lohmet—who is now widely known as King Kalaad the Unwell, the perfect sobriquet—looks very ill indeed. The color of his coppery skin has gone a bit gray, and the muscle underneath his left eye keeps twitching. He’s still dressed at the peak of Nentian fashion, as if the clothes will reassure everyone that everything is fine. But he’s swaying unsteadily on his feet, and that’s a problem, because he’s not trying to do anything but stand still and keep the cheek raptor perched on his forearm steady. He’s not quite able to manage it, and the bird is squawking and flapping its wings in annoyance.
I say nothing as Hennedigha’s men shackle me to a post. We all know it’s for executions, so there’s no reason for me to ask what he is planning. I’ll be patient and learn of his grievance when he’s ready. And then, I suppose, I’ll be dead.
When the soldiers back away, Melishev and I stare at each other, and eventually he snorts derisively. “I know what you did, Ambassador Ken.”
“I’ve done lots of things, King Kalaad. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I should say I know what you didn’t do. You never requested a hygienist for me from Pont. I checked up on it, you see. Took some time, but I found out.”
“I presume you also found out there was no hygienist to be had?”
