Nomadin

by Cormier, Shawn P.

  "So that's why the Swan said Reknamarken must never discover its secrets." Ilien picked up the vial of fireflies once more.

  "Yes," Anselm answered, his face craggy and bent in the dim orange glow.

  "But why leave any at all? Why didn't the wizard's just finish the job so Reknamarken and his armies could never rise again?"

  "Would you want to be the one to completely destroy paradise?" Anselm asked pointedly.

  Ilien watched the fireflies crawl up the side of their jar. "I guess not." But deep inside he knew that if the prophesy proved correct, he might just do worse than that.

  The next morning found them staring once more down the length of the trampled mud highway that led back to the east. The newly risen sun was beginning to bake it brown and hard, releasing an odor of tilled soil and cut grass. The smell reminded Ilien of Farmer Parson's neatly rowed fields back home.

  Anselm peered out toward Greattower, now a little ways off to their left. "I think we can head north now without fear of stumbling on any Killer Scouts," he said.

  "Are you sure?" Ilien had conjured up images of Giant Killer Scouts all night long and didn't at all like what he had seen.

  "Well no, but we can't circle all the way around to the other side of Greattower. The wierwulvs weren't that far behind us. We'll have to take our chances if we want to beat them to the mountain, so mount up."

  Ilien put two fingers to his lips and whistled. Over the last few days he'd finally gotten use to having an invisible horse, or maybe Runner was getting use to him, he wasn't sure. Either way, he knew that when he whistled Runner would be standing to his left, ready to ride. He turned to mount up and saw four Giants racing toward him with swords drawn.

  "Killer Scouts!" Ilien clawed at his pockets for his pencil, his mind fumbling for a spell. Before one could come to him, Anselm stepped forward and with a swipe of his arm sent the assailants sprawling back into the grass. Peering from between Anselm's legs, Ilien saw that they weren't Giants at all. They were men—men with razor sharp swords. They quickly assembled into a tiny regiment and prepared to attack again.

  "Wait!" came a shout behind Ilien. The men stopped their advance, their swords at the ready.

  Ilien turned and froze. He couldn't believe his eyes. "Thessien?"

  "Ilien?" The Eastland prince held his sword in one hand. The other he ran across the stubble of his weather-beaten face. "Well I'll be," he said. "It is you."

  "Thessien!" Ilien cried, and he ran to meet him.

  Thessien sheathed his sword and grasped Ilien by the shoulders. "I can't believe it! It really is you!" He pulled him into a bear hug. He looked around suddenly. "The princess, Ilien. Where is she?" He looked at Anselm and reached again for his sword. "What's going on here?"

  "Anselm's a friend," Ilien said quickly, but Thessien pushed his way forward. "A friend," Ilien repeated, grabbing the Prince of Ashevery by the arm. "Windy's been captured. We're out to save her."

  "Captured?" Thessien kept his hand where it was and looked down at Ilien, his eyes doubtful. "By the Giants?"

  "No. By the NiDemon."

  Ilien related to Thessien all that had happened since they'd last parted—their flight from the Groll, the Drowsy Wood, Windy's capture, Anselm, the Swan, the stealing of the Book by the wierwulvs, and finally the battle at the bridge. He purposefully left out his own part in all of it and wondered if Anselm would let him keep it secret. He didn't feel like telling Thessien that he was destined to doom the world, at least not just yet. The Giant kept silent after he finished but Thessien looked oddly at Ilien nonetheless.

  "Yes, I know the Book's been captured," the prince said, studying Anselm meaningfully. "But not by the wierwulvs, Ilien. By the Giants."

  "The Giants?" Ilien exclaimed, looking to Anselm.

  "Yes. The Giants." Thessien drew his sword halfway from its sheath. "They sacked Kingsend Castle and took the Book with them. We've trailed them the last four days." With a silent signal from the Eastland prince, his men stepped forward. "Tell me," Thessien said evenly. "Why is it that you travel with a Giant?"

  Anselm remained as still as stone but Ilien could plainly see that his ears were turning red.

  "And what does a NiDemon want with the princess?" Thessien pressed. "Tell me Ilien, what has this Giant told you?"

  Ilien moved protectively in front of Anselm. "Wait," he said as Thessien's men advanced a step. "Anselm's my friend. He's my protector. There's more to my story than I've told you."

  Thessien raised a hand to halt his men but his eyes never left Anselm. "Then let me hear it from him," he said, fingering the pommel of his sword and holding the Giant's gaze. "So, Giant, tell me what he's not telling us? Why is it that we find you bringing this boy to Greattower when a NiDemon hides beneath the mountain and an army of your own kind holds the Book that imprisons the Necromancer?"

  Anselm stared unblinking at the man half his size before him. "As you well know, Thessien Atenmien, this boy is the prophesied child."

  Thessien's sword rang free of its scabbard but he made no move to attack. "I know that you would like nothing better than to unite this boy with the Book to release your Master! Speak quickly your case for our sparing you!"

  "In your wisdom have you sentenced me already?" Anselm's hands clenched into massive fists. "Your fame will never equal that of your brother, but you are far more notorious and far less wise, oh Brat of Ashevery, the prince who forsook his title."

  Thessien strode forward, undaunted by the Giant's size.

  "Stop!" Ilien shouted, grabbing Thessien's sword arm and pulling him up short. "It was my decision to come here, not Anselm's. I chose to rescue Windy. She's been captured to lure me before the NiDemon and I have to face it or she'll be killed. There is no trickery, Thessien. Anselm saved my life."

  Thessien shrugged free of Ilien's grip but Ilien quickly grabbed his arm again. The Eastland prince leveled his sword at Anselm. "Am I to believe that a Giant offered to help you defeat the Necromancer and rescue the princess of Evernden?"

  "Yes," Ilien said, refusing to let go of Thessien's arm a second time.

  "Why?"

  "Because Anselm isn't evil. He doesn't follow the Necromancer. He's wanted for treason by his own people."

  Thessien's eyes opened wide. "A heretic?" The other four men exchanged knowing glances. "Tell me, Giant." Thessien's raised a questioning eyebrow. "What is your name?"

  "I've already told you his name," Ilien said. "Anselm is a friend."

  Thessien raised a finger at Ilien to silence him. "Tell me, Giant. Your name. What is it? And be truthful. It may save your life."

  A crimson wave of fury passed across Anselm's stony features and his ears burned like hot coals, his neck turning a dangerous purple. Ilien squeezed his pencil tight. There was about to be trouble—big trouble.

  "My name is Herman Hedrick Humphrey the Third," Anselm replied between clenched teeth.

  A snicker from one of the men sent Anselm into a tirade.

  "You think it's funny?" he railed. "Well I'll have you know that there's more to a person than just his name. What do you think your precious King of Kingsend's real name is? Ruppert! That's what! Ruppert Ruppert Ruppert the Fourth! That's right, three Rupperts in a row!"

  The men backed away, trying not to laugh. Even Thessien cracked a smile as he quickly sheathed his sword.

  Ilien looked on in confusion. "So you believe him because his name isn't Anselm?"

  "No," Thessien said. "His name is definitely not Anselm, but that's not why we believe him. You don't know who this is? He's none other than Herman the Heretic. He's legendary—or almost legendary. I never much believed he existed until now. Herman Hedrick Humphrey the Heretic. Once and future king of the Giants!"

  "King of the Giants?" Ilien looked at Anselm as if for the very first time.

  "Why of course," Thessien replied, "until he was driven into hiding by his own people."

  Anselm was still muttering hotly under his breath about the evils o
f name calling and the harm it can do to a person's fragile self-esteem, especially children, when Thessien approached and held out his hand.

  "My apologies, Lord Herman," Thessien offered.

  Anselm froze and regarded Thessien's hand with a frown. "It's Anselm to you."

  Thessien grabbed Anselm's hand, or tried to. He could barely fit his fingers around the Giant's thumb. "Welcome aboard, Anselm. I'm sorry for the rude treatment but I had to be sure you weren't, well, you know . . . a Giant."

  The red in Anselm's body began to drain away. At that the other men gathered around.

  "I'll be. I don't believe it," said one, dropping his sword to the ground to shake Anselm's hand with both his own. "To think I got a black eye from Herman the Heretic!" He rubbed at the spot where Anselm's forearm had struck him.

  The tips of Anselm's ears flushed red. "Call me Herman again and you won't believe what else I'll give you."

  The man smiled weakly and retrieved his fallen sword.

  Thessien clapped Ilien on the back. "Our stumbling on you is a stroke of luck twice over," he announced with a broad smile. "Not only is it a blessing to find you still alive but now we have what we've been looking for all along."

  "What's that?" Ilien asked, breathing a sigh of relief now that everyone had decided to be civil.

  Thessien smiled. "A way to steal back the Book!"

  Chapter XX

  The Giant's Encampment

  "No way." Anselm shook his head as Thessien laid out his plan to steal the Book from under the very noses of five-thousand Giants. "It's suicide."

  Ilien, too, couldn't believe what Thessien was proposing. It couldn't possibly be done.

  "Let's go over it again," Thessien said, speaking like a professor talking to a bunch of grade-schoolers. "It's really quite simple. Anselm will enter the Giant's encampment at nightfall. He'll locate the Book, wait for our diversion, then steal it back." The four men behind him were all nodding their heads. "It doesn't get any simpler than that."

  "You left out one minor complication," said the stolid Giant.

  Thessien put his head in his hands. "Now what could that possibly be?"

  "I'll be caught and hung on the spot!" Anselm cried.

  "No, you won't." Thessien threw up his hands, his face turning red. "Listen. Our diversion will be such that the whole camp will have no choice but to leave their posts. Then you'll only be left with a guard or two protecting the Book."

  "How do you know there'll only be a guard or two protecting the Book?" Anselm pressed. "There could easily be a dozen."

  "Trust me. There won't be after the diversion we'll create."

  The Giant turned to Ilien and laughed. "And what would that be? Will the sky fall down around them? Will you conjure up the armies of Kingsend from thin air?"

  "Actually, yes." Thessien reached into the pocket of his cloak and produced an ordinary looking horn.

  "The Horn of Plenty," Ilien said, stepping forward.

  "Yes, the Horn of Plenty." Thessien admired the magical talisman, turning it over in his hands. "The princess was thoughtful enough to leave it behind. After the Groll stung me and left me for dead, I raced back to her room and found it on her bed."

  "You were stung by the Groll?" Ilien asked. "But how—"

  Thessien parted his cloak to reveal his chainmail beneath. "The blow left me stunned, nothing more. Funny how the spike of a Groll's tail fails where a small thorn succeeds. Once I recovered my wits I raced after you but you were already gone, and so was the Groll."

  "And the king's soldier?" Ilien frowned. "The one who helped us escape? What happened to him?"

  Thessien grimaced. "Bad chainmail."

  "I hate to interrupt," Anselm said, "but can we possibly go over how a little boy's bugle is going to help us steal the Necromancer's imprisoned soul from an army of Giants."

  "It's magical," Ilien explained. "A single call sounds like the blast of a hundred horns from every direction." He looked at it, his enthusiasm suddenly waning. "At least that's what Windy told me."

  Thessien placed a lean hand on Ilien's shoulder, his impatience thinly masked by the smile he pushed toward Anselm. "Like I said, it's really very simple. You'll enter the camp and locate the Book. We'll blow the horn which will fool the Giants into thinking they're under attack. They'll undoubtedly send every available Giant out to meet what they think is a large opposing army and you'll overpower whatever guards remain and simply walk out of the camp the other way, Book in hand. Once you're a safe distance away, make your way to Berkhelven. We'll meet up with you there."

  Ilien squinted. "But how will you know when Anselm has located the Book?"

  Thessien's eyes lit up. "That's where you come in. You'll shoot that pesky little light of yours into the air. That'll be our signal."

  Ilien looked doubtful. Something didn't add up. "But how will I know when Anselm's located the Book?"

  "This will never work!" came the muffled cry from under Anselm's animal skin shirt. The moving bulge beneath made the Giant appear pregnant, fifteen months pregnant, and he chuckled each time it shifted positions. Ilien popped his head out from Anselm's collar. "This is just ridiculous!"

  "No, it's not," Thessien assured him, a bit too seriously in Ilien's opinion. "It serves two purposes. It will get you inside the camp so you can send us the signal, and you'll create a perfect disguise for Anselm. Between the growth of several days' beard and the appearance that he's a hundred pounds overweight, no one could possibly recognize him as Herman the Heretic."

  "Hey!" Anselm shouted. "What did I tell you about calling me that name?"

  "I'm telling you it will never work," Ilien said, ignoring Anselm's outburst. "How do you know that horn is really magical? Most of Windy's talismans turned out to be . . . well . . . me!"

  "Trust me, it works," Thessien replied. "Just keep your head down and everything will go as planned."

  Anselm pushed Ilien's head below his collar.

  It popped back out.

  "It smells in there!" Ilien cried.

  "Now you know how I feel!" came the pencil's muffled shout from Ilien's front pocket.

  "This is a bad idea," Ilien concluded, and started to climb out of Anselm's shirt. "Besides, I can't waste my time on this suicide mission when there's already a NiDemon waiting for me elsewhere. I've got my own suicide mission, you know. I have to get to Greattower."

  "Why?" Thessien stepped forward, turning suddenly very serious. "To get there before the Book? It's already there, Ilien. The Giants are camped on Greattower's doorstep and if we don't get the Book back now you won't ever be able to help the princess. This is her only chance."

  Ilien stopped halfway out of Anselm's shirt. He looked like some strange two-headed monster with his head and shoulders still poking out from Anselm's collar. "What makes you think that they're not taking the Book to the NiDemon even as we speak?" he said, not liking the sound of his own words. "It could already be too late."

  "Because Giants are extremely superstitious. They believe that Book holds the very embodiment of God. They won't bring it before the NiDemon until later tonight, possibly tomorrow morning, not until after their dark ceremonies."

  Anselm nodded and craned his neck to look at Ilien. "He's right. You can bet the Book hasn't been delivered yet. Giant ceremonies are long, drawn out affairs with lots of incense burning, séances and sacrifices."

  "Sacrifices!" Ilien would have shrunk back under Anselm's shirt but the smell was prohibitive.

  "It's not what you think," Anselm said. "It's mostly goats and pigs. The smell of roasting bacon is actually quite nice."

  "We only get one chance at this." Thessien's face was grim. "It's now or never."

  Ilien writhed about under Anselm's animal skins. "But what about the Killer Scouts. There's sure to be Killer Scouts trailing the main army."

  Thessien broke into laughter. "Killer Scouts? Trailing the main army? Where did you ever get that idea?"

  Anselm looked sheepish
. Ilien gave a kick to his ribs.

  "Hey!" the Giant grunted. "I had to say something to keep you from following the Giant army like a fool."

  Thessien turned to go. "Now climb down from there, Ilien. We're leaving."

  Ilien crawled out from under Anselm's collar. "Killer Scouts," he mumbled, and scaled his way down Anselm's torso none-too-gently.

  Thessien blew a sharp whistle and five horses rose up from the grass where they had been lying low. Ilien and Anselm jumped in alarm at the sudden sound of bits and bridles and flailing hooves, and Thessien smiled.

  "There's nothing like a well-trained horse," said one of Thessien's men, patting the neck of his mount.

  Ilien, too, gave a sharp whistle. A snicker went up from the now mounted men. A gust of wind ruffled their hair.

  "Horse run off on ya?" laughed one.

  Ilien climbed aboard Runner.

  The man fell out of his saddle.

  "No. Why?" Ilien asked, holding the invisible reins with both hands. Anselm snorted and shook his head.

  According to Thessien, they would reach the Giant's encampment by nightfall. At the pace they were setting, Ilien couldn't see how that was possible. Compared to Runner, the other horses only limped along, and Ilien had to keep a tight rein on her just so they could keep up. He sighed and eyed the looming mountain on the horizon, the late afternoon sun painting its smooth sides purple and grey. There was nothing else to do but make the best of it. Beside, did he really want to rush to get to where they were going? Steal back the Book, he thought, and shook his head at his own foolishness.

  "So, you're a king?" Ilien asked as Anselm jogged beside him. "Should I call you, 'Your Majesty'?"

  "Call me whatever you want," Anselm said with a sideways glance. "Just don't call me Herman."

  Ilien nudged Runner closer. "And you have a son?"

  Anselm nodded and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Though the pace they set was anything but vigorous, the angled sun fell warmly on them as they traveled.