Giants lc-1

by Vaughn Heppner

  The trolock bent down to pick up another rock.

  Tarag, who regained his balance with a cat’s quickness, roared and swung again, hewing the legs from the rocky torso. The trolock groaned and then screamed. In a rush, something wispy rose out of the jumbled mass of stone. The wisp vanished, and like a mighty tree, the stones tumbled to the floor and lay in a lifeless heap.

  “I’ve won!” Tarag roared.

  “No!” Elidad screamed. “I’ve won!” He launched himself at the monstrous First Born.

  Tarag towered over Elidad as an adult would over a child. The First Born shielded himself from the first swing. Elidad’s sword shivered into three pieces. Tarag swept the adamant sword and sheered through shield, armor, and flesh. In two grisly pieces, Elidad fell dead beside the trolock.

  “Fool!” Tarag roared.

  Hissing sounds began from the stone forest.

  Tarag turned to Mimir, who still held his torch. “The man’s spirit,” Tarag said. “It awakens more trolocks.”

  Mimir paled.

  The hissing sounds from beyond the throne increased. It was louder than it had been last time.

  Tarag and Mimir began to strip the adamant chainmail from the lich.

  “What now?” Gens whispered.

  “We must flee this place,” Adah said, “while they’re occupied with the lich. Then we must hide from them in the cliffs outside.”

  Tarag and Mimir worked off the adamant chainmail as fast as they could. Tarag already wore the helmet, and with the sword he turned as another trolock came for them. Tarag slew the trolock, and then he slew a third. From the stone forest came much hissing as more trolocks awakened.

  Herrek led them away from the emerald pit and around the throne, trying to circle it to reach the stone forest. From there, they could flee.

  Mimir spoke to Tarag. Tarag shrugged. Mimir spoke more urgently. Tarag picked up his sword and bounded at the party.

  At Joash’s shouted warning, Adah shot a poisoned arrow into Tarag’s neck. The First Born yanked it out, his eyes shining in a strange way. Heat radiated from him. He laughed. The poison didn’t seem to affect him.

  “Fools,” Tarag said. “My powers are greater than that.”

  In desperation, Herrek hurled his spear. It bounced off Tarag’s shield. The massive First Born leaped forward and slammed his shield against Herrek, hurling the Champion of Teman Clan off his feet and into unconsciousness. Gens soon lay groaning. Tarag set aside his sword and snatched Adah, regarding her. She was like an over-sized doll in his hands.

  Mimir approached. With strong cords, he bound Herrek and Gens. He regarded Joash, who stood back, his torch high, his spear ready for casting.

  “Greetings,” Mimir said.

  Joash nodded, but was too fearful to speak.

  “Shall I eat you?” Tarag asked Adah.

  “Leave the Singer alone!” Joash shouted.

  Tarag applied pressure. Adah writhed and screamed. Joash shouted the Teman war cry and charged Tarag. Mimir knocked him to the ground.

  Tarag eased his grip. Adah slumped over.

  Tarag told Mimir, “They must not die here. It they do, their released spirits will awaken more trolocks.”

  “But High One,” Mimir said, “they will speak of what they’ve seen. We must take them outside, well beyond the cursed area, and slay them.”

  “Their chariots are smashed,” Tarag said, “their horses slain. We will take their water-skins and their weapons. They will perish before they reach the camp.”

  “We must make certain they die, High One.”

  Tarag seemed indifferent, but he said, “I will send some of my pets to slay them then.”

  “High One, isn’t it wiser to make certain and do it ourselves?”

  “We’ve no time,” Tarag snarled. “These are treacherous hills. Carrying bound humans all the way out of the cursed area will take time. No, we must move quickly now, lest the others grow suspicious.”

  “As you will it, High One.”

  Tarag set Adah on the ground. Mimir bound her as he had the others. Tarag returned to the lich, drawing off the chainmail.

  Mimir regarded Joash. The Groom was the last conscious one of the party. He was the only one to have heard the exchange between Tarag and Mimir. As they’d talked, Joash had hidden his spear between two oily looking rocks, covering it with shale.

  Mimir now stroked his long black beard. He glanced at Tarag, who almost had the adamant armor free. “You’re brave,” Mimir told Joash. “I knew you had a strong inner flame. Maybe I should take you with me and make you my body servant. In such a manner you would survive.”

  “You honor me,” Joash managed to say.

  “I do,” Mimir admitted. “You have spirit. You also have the ability to think.”

  “But I cannot do as you suggest,” Joash said. “I loathe First Born, and loathe their children.” Nor could he stand being parted from Herrek, his hero. Nor could stand leaving Adah, either.

  Mimir nodded. “Come, you carry the woman, I’ll carry the warriors. Together we’ll bring them outside the crypt so no more trolocks may feast upon new spirits. First, however, surrender all the water-skins.”

  Joash did as Mimir demanded, and he watched Mimir pour the precious water onto the floor, snap the spears, and shatter the swords by striking them against stones.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Flash Fire

  As tongues of fire lick up straw and as the dry grass sinks down in the flames, so their roots will decay and their flowers blow away like dust.

  — Isaiah 5:24

  Mimir closed the massive crypt door and wedged it with wood. He mockingly saluted Joash and followed Tarag toward the cave entrance. The moment the two huge beings stepped out of sight, Joash propped up his torch, took out his knife, and cut the others’ bonds.

  Joash told them what had occurred, and about his hidden spear in the crypt.

  “It matters not,” Gens groaned, as he rubbed his wrists. “The evil ones have slain our horses. Now we’re doubly and triply doomed.”

  Herrek looked drained, and a huge knot had arisen on his forehead. The only weaponry left him was his belt-dagger.

  “Gens is right,” Herrek said, “We’re doomed, because of our lack of water. And there is no way I will allow anyone to re-enter the hellish crypt, not even for a badly needed spear.”

  “Maybe we’re not doomed.” Joash told them about his cached water-skin.

  Herrek perked up, and Adah nodded approvingly, patting Joash on the cheek. “You’re resourceful,” she said.

  Standing closer to Adah than he usually did, Joash picked up the torch, urging the others to follow him. The stony abominations stirred in the crypt. The things might try to escape.

  The ascent up the slippery-steep floor proved difficult. They were exhausted by the last few hours. Added to that was Elidad’s death, which weighed heavily. Maybe just as bad, they knew Mimir and Tarag had acquired that which they desperately wanted. Maybe worst of all, they knew their chances of leaving the Hills of Kel-Hemen alive were almost zero.

  “Why divine armor?” Adah whispered, leaning against Joash. “What is its purpose?”

  After a slow, treacherous journey, they reached the entrance. To their surprise, they found it unblocked.

  They stepped into the sunlight. It was the middle of the afternoon, and it took long minutes for their eyes to adjust. They searched for signs of Nephilim and First Born. There was only the moaning wind and small dust clouds.

  “How will we cross the steppes without weapons?” Gens asked. “How will we possibly survive more sabertooths?”

  Deep in thought, Adah pulled away from Joash and stroked her chin. Despite her haggard appearance, she retained hope. Maybe a lifetime of battling Yorgash and his Gibborim had conditioned her to grimmer realities than the others. Or maybe it was the teachings of the mysterious Lod.

  Joash ground out the torch and tucked the guttered brand in his belt. He led them toward his hi
dden water-skin. The footing was treacherous as before, and now each of them took their time. Joash could well understand why it would be doubly treacherous for heavier and much bigger Nephilim and First Born. Both Tarag and Mimir would have been slowed carrying them out of the cursed area. With their greater weight, they surely would have broken pieces of brittle stone. Joash wondered who “those others” Tarag had spoken about were.

  When Joash reached the ledge where he saw the three special boulders, he scouted for signs of watching Nephilim. Satisfied he wasn’t being watched, he produced the chariot water-skin, and each of them took a precious sip.

  “It’s less than two thirds full,” Herrek complained, but the tone of his voice said that some of his spirits had returned.

  “It might be enough, though,” Adah told Joash.

  He smiled at her welcome words.

  Herrek slung the strap over his shoulder and shuffled forward. The others followed. Until they reached the remains of the chariots they saw no animals. They endured the heat and their weariness in silence, but when they saw the smashed and splintered chariots and the bloody carcasses, they groaned and flung themselves to the ground. Gens wept bitter tears and Adah keened over Koton’s loss. At last, Herrek and Joash approached the bloated carcasses. No flies buzzed nearby, nor did vultures soar above, looking down in interest. It seemed that the cursed area had grown. Maybe the awakened trolocks, or Elidad’s death, had caused that.

  Herrek toed the snapped javelin cases and the broken javelins. Quietly, he rolled up his banner and tucked it in his belt. Then he collected a strip of harness and a leather cloth. He wrapped the cloth around several fist-sized stones and tied it to the arm-long strap.

  “A mace?” Joash asked.

  Herrek swung the makeshift mace around his head. It was a heavy and unwieldy weapon, but it could break bones.

  A sabertooth snarled.

  Joash looked up in alarm. Five hundred yards away paced several huge sabertooths. They were massive, but their fear of the Hills of Kel-Hemen kept them at bay.

  Herrek angrily stared at the beasts. “We’re doomed,” he said.

  Despite the heat and the danger, Joash yawned. He was too tired to think anymore. He followed Herrek back to the others and listened to their dismay.

  “We need sleep,” Adah finally said. “Maybe in the morning we’ll have a good idea.”

  No one argued. The bewitching emeralds had forced them to move too fast for too long so that nothing was left in them. Joash tried to stand guard, but he was too weary. He woke once to the sound of roaring sabertooths, and he feared to see Mimir come striding toward them. To his surprise he saw Adah sleeping beside him. Her head, and pulled-up knees, had almost been touching him. She looked so small and vulnerable, so very pretty. He longed to wrap his arms around her and kiss her. Instead, he fell back into a fitful slumber, although he dared to place one of his hands on top of one of hers.

  Morning came too soon. He awoke to see Adah take her hand from his. She smiled shyly, then turned and rubbed dirt off her face.

  They were sore, and so they moved tentatively. They sipped from the water-skin and morosely saw how empty it was becoming. They returned to the wreckage and the awful smell of bloated carcasses. The sabertooths stood and roared once again. Tarag’s pets prowled where they had before, about five hundred yards away. Golden grains waved in the wind before them, but it was no rampart, no fortification. Only the curse kept the great cats at bay.

  “Before the day is out, we’ll take our last drink,” Gens said.

  Joash kept wondering if he should have taken Mimir up on the offer of body servant. He wouldn’t have to be contemplating his death this way. His choices were stark: death under a burning sun, or death under ravenous claws.

  Herrek studied him.

  “Do we fight?” Joash didn’t want to die, but he didn’t know what to do. After so much, it seemed unfair they perish now.

  Herrek smiled tiredly. “We’ll die if we battle the sabertooths.”

  “And we’ll die if we don’t find water.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do not the warrior codes of Elon say it is better to die facing the enemy?” Joash asked.

  Herrek swung his makeshift mace.

  “You’ve said before that your scars are on your front, not on your back,” Joash said. “Shall we not then face these final enemies?”

  “Wait.” Adah said. “There is a better way.”

  “Your poisoned arrows are gone,” Herrek said.

  “Is it not better to tell of what we’ve seen than to let the secrets die?” she asked.

  Herrek admitted it was so.

  “Then any tool should be used, yes?” she asked.

  Herrek pondered that.

  “The giant and First Born are evil,” Adah said, “and what they plan is evil.”

  “What is your strategy?” Herrek asked.

  She smiled at Joash and told Herrek, “Fire.”

  Herrek scowled.

  “Notice the wind,” she said. “It blows toward the sabertooths. Look at the yellow grasses, they will burn if fired.”

  Herrek studied the terrain. “Your idea has merit.”

  “If we’re lucky,” she said, “we can follow behind the prairie fire all the way to the lake.”

  “We don’t have enough water,” Gens told her.

  “Should we lie down and die then?” she asked.

  “No,” Joash said. “We have too much to live for.”

  Adah smiled. It made Joash realize the truth of his words, and it thrilled him to be smiled at like that.

  Joash used his kit, which he’d cached with the water-skin. Soon his torch burned, as well as chariot splinters. They each carried two torches and spread out, until forty feet separated them one from the other. Carefully, they approached the snarling beasts.

  “Do not approach them too closely,” Adah warned Joash.

  Herrek dashed toward the sabertooths and hurled a torch at one. The second torch he hurled to his left. The others followed his example, throwing torches in a pre-determined line. The dry grasses immediately caught fire. The wind blew the fire into a crackling blaze and the sabertooths snarled with a note of fear.

  The four humans backed away from the blaze. The heat was too much. A shift in the wind forced them to race back to the rocks. Shortly however the wind shifted to its regular pattern, and now the fire was about a hundred feet in length. With a strong gust of wind, it leapt toward the beasts. They snarled and retreated.

  Herrek ran back to the water-skin and slung it over his shoulder. They waited. The fire grew. In time, it roared and began to advance faster than a man could run. They watched it chase the sabertooths. As the fire advanced it also grew longer. In the hope that they could walk on hotter ground, each of them tied slabs of wood to their sandals.

  “That was a good idea,” Joash told Adah.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  “I hope so.”

  Joash glanced at Herrek. The warrior judged the fire and the distance the sabertooths had run away. With his heart thumping, Joash took Adah’s hand and squeezed it. “I think we’ll make it.”

  She squeezed back, and in that moment, she almost seemed as young as he did. A tired smile curved her lips, and she pecked him on the mouth.

  Emboldened, he kissed her back.

  “Joash,” she chided, “not in front of the others.”

  He grinned and squeezed her hand once more, then let go.

  “Now!” Herrek shouted.

  They advanced into the sooty area. Heat radiated from the blackened earth, drenching them with sweat.

  “We must ration the water carefully,” Herrek said, his voice ringing with hope. “Thus, unless you are staggering and seeing visions, I will not allow you to drink.”

  For the first half-hour they endured the heat and the fast pace. After an hour of walking, they constantly asked the Champion for a drink. He never complied. By the
second hour, with the entire horizon ablaze and with the heat a staggering burden, they looked on Herrek as an enemy.

  “Water,” Gens whispered, pawing at Herrek.

  Herrek, with his hardened face never looking back, trudged one foot ahead of the other.

  Adah moaned softly. She limped, falling behind. Joash had checked her feet at the last stop. The right one had badly blistered.

  “Lean on me,” he whispered.

  “No,” she croaked. “I won’t burden you. Someone must take our message.” Her limp increased. She fell farther behind.

  “Slow down,” Joash told Herrek.

  The Champion seemed to be made of granite. He didn’t appear to have heard.

  Joash’s mouth was dry; his skin was hot and clogged with black ashes. The very earth robbed him of precious strength. He could hardly think.

  “Water,” Gens moaned, pawing at Herrek.

  “March,” Herrek whispered, his lips cracked.

  Joash turned. Adah had fallen even farther behind. He waited until she limped even with him. Without a word, he took one of her arms and put it over his shoulder. She was so light, so small. After a hundred yards, however, the extra weight had caused more sweat to leap onto his skin.

  “Let me march by myself,” she whispered.

  Joash couldn’t force his lips to move or his tongue to form words. Both were too dry. When she tried to move away he held her wrist and refused to let go. At last she relented, and they continued to trudge together. Soon, in a delirium, Joash considered using his knife to try to slay the carrier of the precious water. At last, at the third hour, Herrek let them sip. The trickle of liquid never tasted so good. Joash wanted to smile at Adah, but his cracked lips would bleed if he tried.

  “More,” Adah whispered.

  Herrek let them sip a little more and then capped the water-skin and arose. “We must keep marching. Once we run out of water, the race is over.”

  “I can’t go on,” Gens said in a pitiful voice.

  “My feet hurt,” Adah said.

  Joash had looked at them an hour ago. He didn’t understand how she could walk.