“I know.”
The silence drew out. Finally, Will tipped his head toward the window. “What’s happening? People have been crowding the streets.”
It was his form of a truce. I sat cross-legged on the floor and studied him. How exactly was I supposed to tell a boy that Reggen might be attacked?
If the boy was Will, you just told him. I took a deep breath and waved the parchment. “A rider came into Reggen, scattering these. Can you read?”
“Not good.”
I read the notice to him, then tossed it aside. “I don’t think we need to worry. We’ll be safe behind the walls. Even if there were a siege, the city has reservoirs that pull water from the river. But—you’re not to play in the fields past the Kriva. Not till we know more.”
“Does the duke really get to rule Reggen?”
“No. King Eldin is the rightful ruler, like his brother and father.” I shrugged. “The duke can’t be completely sane.”
Will sat down, too. “What if he is coming with an army of giants?”
“There’s no such thing as giants.”
“But there are stories about giants,” he pressed. “That they laid the city’s foundation … that they—”
“It doesn’t mean the stories are true! I told you about the dragon but it doesn’t mean one will ever fly over Reggen.”
Will didn’t seem to hear me. “I bet it was giants that attacked the villages. They’re the monsters everyone talks about! What if they’re the reason Pa hasn’t come back?”
I put a hand on his knee. “People could mistake warriors for monsters, especially if they attacked at night. Giants don’t exist.”
Will shook his head. “You don’t know that!”
For a moment, I almost believed him. Believed that monsters were traveling toward Reggen, that the Kriva wasn’t deep enough and our walls weren’t high enough to protect us.
Ridiculous. But I wouldn’t argue with Will. He just needed to believe that his father hadn’t been captured.
“Very well, then,” I said. “Suppose giants do exist. Do you think they’d be able to sneak up on someone?”
Will stopped to consider. “No …”
“Your father, he sounds like a smart man. How would a giant sneak up on him? I’m sure there’s another reason why he hasn’t come yet.” I nodded toward the door. “Why don’t you run out and see if you can gather more news?”
Will looked relieved. There were few things worse than sitting still when the world was falling to pieces around you.
Even if it wasn’t really falling to pieces.
Will was in fine spirits the next day when he returned from his midmorning trip to the fountain.
“The king thinks there are giants, too!” He flopped down on the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, panting. “He does! He sent criers out, and they say that anyone who can defeat the giants gets to marry the princess. Marry her!”
“You can’t be serious.” I looked out the window. “He can’t be serious.”
How could Lord Cinnan let the king issue such a proclamation? It made the king look weak, desperate.
Will grinned. “You should ask him if he believes in giants when you bring him his coat.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “This doesn’t mean the king thinks the giant army is real. It means he’s trying to keep the city calm.”
“It’s more interesting my way.” Will popped up and looked over my shoulder. “That seam’s crooked. You should use a double-back, whip-’em-hard stitch to fix it.”
It was a game of ours: Will would find imaginary fault with my work and offer ridiculous advice. He’d outdone himself. I laughed until the tears rolled down my cheeks, laughed as if I wasn’t trapped, as if I wasn’t scared.
Will puffed out his chest, pleased. “I wonder why the king even keeps a tailor who sews so bad.”
I swatted at him. “Do you want me to stitch your lips shut?”
He danced out of reach. “Bet even that seam would be crooked!”
“If my seams are crooked, it’s because you distract me.”
He put his hands on his hips. “You like it.”
I rested the sewing in my lap, studying the boy. Will had just returned from the fountain, where there’d been no sign of his father. He slept in a nest of blankets under the cutting table and worried about giants. Yet he was grinning at me.
Poor little man, I thought, if this seems good to him. What will I do when he leaves …?
“I do like it.”
“I knew it!”
I pointed at some work on the cutting table. “Yesterday, I left you three vests to cut. Not one is ready for stitching.”
“Can’t cut them now. I’m going giant hunting. That’s what I came back to tell you.”
I looked at him—that long, slow look that announced he would do as I said.
He picked up the shears. “I’ll go giant hunting after I cut the vests.”
I bent over my work, absorbed with setting a sleeve, and listened to the whisper of the shears as Will cut the fabric. He often cut out the forms too quickly, leaving ragged edges and lopsided proportions. Yet he did a fine job that morning.
After a while, he asked, “Do you think I could catch a giant?”
“There are no giants, Will.” I looked up from my sewing, needle in midair. “Just how do you plan to hunt one?”
“With Tomas. And rope. He has the rope, so I had to let him come.” Will put the shears down. “See? All finished.”
He cantered toward the stairs.
“Make sure you’re back by midafternoon bells!” I didn’t fear giants, but I couldn’t banish the image of the messenger. “And remember what I said: Don’t go past the Kriva.”
He yelped in protest, but I held up a hand. “I mean it! Set your giant traps close to the river.”
“But there’ll be people in the fields past the river! You won’t let me go farther than a farmer?”
“No, I won’t.”
He glared at me.
“You’re wasting time, Will lad.”
One final glare and he was off. The shop seemed the darker for it.
Will didn’t return by midafternoon bells. I passed the time by imagining the scolding I’d give him. The speech grew longer and louder when I went for bread and found that Will had eaten it all.
“I have to go out, Tailor,” I announced. “Will hasn’t left a crumb. He should return before I do.” I snatched up a bit of new cheese to eat on the way and trotted down the stairs.
I was in the street when I heard the shouts.
“Giants!”
I shoved the cheese in my pocket and headed toward the gates.
“In the fields! Giants!”
“Close the gates!”
Will’s friend Tomas darted past, wide-eyed with fear. Alone. He held a torn length of rope in his hand.
“Tomas!” I caught him by the shoulders. “Where is Will?”
He looked up at me. “He wouldn’t let go of the rope, even when they got close.”
Chapter 9
I pushed my way toward Reggen’s gates—gates wide enough for four wagons. Would a giant be able to squeeze through?
If there were giants.
The huge doors were still open, but I heard the clang, clang, clang of a chain as the portcullis lowered. I shouldered through the crowd until I reached the wooden grate.
Out over the bridge, near the road that led through the farmland, stood two men.
They were men, just men. Dressed in foreign-looking clothes. It was the summer heat shivering up from the bridge, a trick of the eye, that made them look tall as trees.
Then one of the men brushed his shoulder, and the oak beside him whipped back and forth. I gasped. He wasn’t standing far in front of the oak. He stood beside it—and was nearly its height.
Giants! They approached the bridge, moving like huge draft horses, slow and strong. But they didn’t look ferocious for all their size. One even carried a
rag doll.
And then I realized it was not a doll.
One giant held a boy by his foot while the second prodded him with an enormous finger. The child hung limp, his shirt falling over his face. I knew that shirt, even from this distance. I’d sewn it.
Will. The boy was Will.
I couldn’t hear the crowd around me. I could hardly breathe. Another prod brought Will to his senses, and he began thrashing in the giant’s grip. I squeezed the rails of the portcullis until splinters bit into my hands.
“No, Will,” I whispered. “Be still. Be still!”
Will’s struggle seemed to irritate the giant holding him. He shook Will the way a laundress would shake out a shirt.
Will screamed, an animal sound that cut through the shouts of the crowd. Then he went limp again, dangling from the giant’s hand.
I screamed, too, as I fought my way through the masses. I had to reach the door beside the portcullis. Two guardsmen stood there, mouths agape. Watching, only watching!
I elbowed past them and ran across the bridge, my feet hardly touching the stones. The world narrowed to the giants before me and the roar of blood in my ears.
When I reached the other side, I skidded to a stop and scooped up some stones from the roadside. Then I charged the giants, hurling the rocks at them. One flew past the ear of the giant holding Will. He took no notice. The next was better aimed. It hit the creature on his nose.
He hardly flinched.
“Put! Him! Down!” I shouted, heaving a rock with each word. “Leave him alone!”
Both giants stopped—like wind-tossed trees suddenly turned to stone—and looked at me.
I stumbled back a step or two. Their faces looked human, except for their eyes. Their pupils were slits, like a cat’s. I noticed—even then—that the one who prodded Will wore a well-sewn jerkin of gray leather. He looked like the younger of the two, with smooth cheeks and dark, curling hair. The other giant, the one who held Will, wore poorer clothing, with a pick strapped to his back. What would I do if he decided to use it? The pick was huge, stretching between his vast shoulders.
They were huge, as tall as six men. My head didn’t even reach their knees.
I didn’t care.
I glared up at them. They stared down at me. And Will hung limp from the giant’s hand.
“Are warriors from your land so puny that they fight stripling children?” I shouted. They looked at each other.
I jabbed a finger at them. “Put … him … DOWN!” My voice was even louder than before.
“Oma would not like this,” said the one who held Will. He had tawny hair and a trimmed beard. His melodic voice surprised me. I’d been expecting something nearer a grunt.
The young one narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t agree. But he didn’t try to touch Will again.
Thank goodness for Oma, whoever he was.
“There is no glory in hurting a boy!” I shouted. “Now put him down!”
The young one put a hand on the bearded one’s shoulder, as if to hold him back, but the bearded one shook him off, and held Will out at arm’s length. His grip on Will’s foot began to relax. I could see his huge fingers release.…
“No!”
The giant looked at me.
“Set him down,” I said. Would he really listen to me? “Don’t drop him.”
The bearded giant tucked his chin slightly, a close cousin to a nod. Then he crouched, forearm across his knee. It seemed to take an age to fold himself up. Finally, he set Will down so that his head touched the ground first, while his limbs flopped around him.
Then the giant straightened like a tower being built before me. He stepped away and watched as I ran toward Will.
“Talk not to the lité. Kill them before their voices can touch us,” rumbled the young one. “The duke said—”
Lité? Was that what they called us?
“I’ll not kill it,” said the one with the beard and pick. “No matter what the duke said.”
Their voices were low, like the last purr of thunder before it fades away entirely. I could feel the rumble of it in my chest.
I reached Will and dragged him back toward the bridge. He had to get to the city.
“I will look after the boy!” I called as I tugged at Will. “Then you may deal with me if you wish.” I set Will down and waved a fist at them. “If you can!”
I couldn’t believe myself—or that the giants had actually listened to me. I only knew that if I kept talking, they might keep listening and Will might be saved.
I knelt beside him. He was pale, his right foot bent at an awful angle. I looked toward Reggen’s gates for help, but no one had followed me across the bridge. Not a soul.
“Will,” I whispered. “Will!”
He didn’t answer, so I lightly slapped his cheek. Nothing. The giants were beginning to shift their weight and mutter. I didn’t have much time.
“Forgive me.…” Before I could think better of it, I prodded his crooked foot.
He woke with a shriek.
“Shhh!” I clamped a hand over his mouth, scared of provoking the giants. “Quiet, Will! As you value your life, be quiet.”
His eyes were glassy with tears, but he nodded. I pulled my hand away.
“Listen to me,” I whispered. “You must get back to the gates. I don’t care if you think your foot will snap off. Go as quickly and as quietly as you can. Do you hear me?”
I looked back to Reggen’s gates. Still, no one came for him. For us.
Cowards.
One last look at Will. One quick squeeze of his shoulder. “Go!”
I stood and walked back toward the giants. For the first time since running across the bridge, I was afraid, the sort of fear that melted the marrow in my bones and made it hard to move.
I had to give Will time. My legs might be weak, but I could shout easily enough.
“Now!” I bellowed up at them. “Do what you will!”
The young one flinched, then lifted his foot in one sweeping arc. I dove away as the boot crashed down where I had been standing. The boot rose again and I threw myself to the side.
But the boot never fell.
“No!” The bearded one pulled the young giant back with a commotion like a small landslide. “Kill not!”
“The duke commanded—” The young one pushed the other giant away and he staggered back, the ground trembling beneath us. I’d never seen such strength, such force. I’d been a fool to think they moved slowly. The bearded one found his footing with a growl, and the two giants faced each other.
I pushed myself to standing and backed away, pulling in great, gulping breaths. What was happening?
“You will not kill! I will not let you.” The bearded one shook his great head. “What would you tell Oma?”
After a moment, the young giant reluctantly lowered his hands. The earth trembled as both giants turned to me.
“What do you want, lité?” asked the bearded giant.
I wanted them to go away. No, I wanted them to never have come. I wanted to keep thinking giants were creatures from stories. But I needed to give Will time to escape. I couldn’t fight the giants, and I wouldn’t run. I glanced around me: fields, willows, river … stones.
Stones. The cheese in my pocket. That was it.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “I challenge you to a game of strength! I dare you to break a rock with your hands!”
The one with the beard chuckled and reached behind him to touch the pick the way some men rub a luck charm. He must work with stone. Maybe he could—
“No!” I shouted, fists on my hips. “Breaking a rock is too easy. Our children do that before they’re finished with their mothers’ milk! I challenge you to squeeze water from it!”
Both giants walked to the river and snatched up boulders. Three paces there, three paces back … each stride must have been the length of two men. A moment later, the young giant’s boulder exploded into dust and pebbles, and I threw my arms up t
o shield my face from the debris.
I rubbed the dust from my eyes, desperate to see again. The giants hadn’t moved.
The bearded one shook his head and told the young one, “Too fast. You work too fast.”
He held his boulder aloft, nearly above me, and I scampered back a few paces. Then he began to squeeze the stone, his eyes closed, his head tilted to the side as if listening. His knuckles grew white from strain.
The young giant stood near, dusty hands hanging loose at his sides. They were good hands: strong, with tapered fingers, the sort of hands that knew a trade. He might have been a tailor. I’d never expected to see a craftsman’s hands on a giant.
Even so, I’d seen what those hands had done to Will. I could imagine what they would do to me. They were big enough to pick me up, fingers meeting around my waist—
I saw it pick you up, the young man in Fine Coat’s wagon had said, just like you were a doll.…
No. I wouldn’t let the fear seep into my bones again.
I looked up at the bearded giant’s boulder. A small patch on the bottom of the rock had darkened. I thought it was a shadow. Then a single drop of water gathered. The young giant, also watching, didn’t react. Perhaps he couldn’t see. I glanced over my shoulder at the bridge.
Will was not even halfway across.
“There!” The young one’s shout pulled me back. “He did it! I heard the water fall.”
“Did you see it?” I asked.
“Ha!” he snorted, and it reminded me of a bellows. “How would we see something so small? But I heard it.”
He heard it? Their hearing is that keen? He clapped his friend on the back. They both turned to me.
My mouth was dust dry, but I shouted anyway. “Only one drop? I could squeeze a handful of water if I wanted! But I am tired, so I’ll choose a smaller rock. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I may only squeeze three drops today.”
The bearded giant, still sweating from his exertion, chuckled and shook his head. “It is a nervy little lité,” he said. “All spirit and sinew. It is good not to kill it.”
The young giant’s brows lowered. “The duke …”
I didn’t give him time to finish.
“Now you’ll see my strength!” I ran to the river. Once there, I quietly dropped the cheese from my pocket and toed it around in the dirt until it was covered. Then I picked up the fist-sized hunk and held it aloft. “This is the stone I have chosen!”
Valiant Page 5
