Valiant

by Sarah McGuire

  “You will not hurt them,” he rumbled. “I will not let you.”

  Panic turned my skin to gooseflesh. This giant would protect them, whoever they were. He’d do whatever he needed to keep them safe. I wanted to explain that I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, but I didn’t think he’d believe me.

  Then I thought of Lord Verras and how he often grew quiet when someone was angry with him. There was power in that silence. So I nodded to the giant but did not speak.

  “You will not hurt my friends,” the giant repeated. “The ones near the river.”

  I held up my hands to show I meant to harm.

  “Will you not speak?” he demanded. “We are told your voices bring death, but I do not fear you or anything you might say.”

  “You have no reason to fear me,” I whispered.

  He flinched at my voice but immediately recovered.

  “You carried me here,” I said softly. “You could have drowned me or crushed me. How could I hurt you?”

  Some of the fire left the giant’s eyes. He folded his arms. “How, indeed?” he murmured.

  He leaned closer until his face filled my vision. I could not look away. I didn’t want to.

  A flash in the corner of my eye. Something slammed into my ribs, and I flew backward off the boulder. I scrabbled in the shrubs, desperate to right myself, and leapt to my feet. What—?

  His fingertip. He’d prodded me.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted, too scared to mimic Lord Verras’s wise silence. “That hurt!”

  The giant reared back, surprised and … ashamed, perhaps? “Peace, lité. I meant no harm. Our scouts swore Reggen’s tailor possessed great strength. And the duke … I thought all liten were stronger.” He tilted his head as if he could hear something in the night air. “Please, I wish to speak to you.”

  I sat again. Slowly.

  Lité. The scouts had used that word for me. I swallowed. “But the duke said—we’ve heard—you’re to kill us on sight.”

  “I have no love for the duke.” The giant made a low sound in his throat, too refined for a growl. “And I wish to hear a human voice.”

  And then I remembered the pens. It seemed a betrayal to meet this giant, to sense I could trust him, and yet know that this army kept humans! I grew too furious to be afraid. “You’ve had a thousand chances to hear human voices. You keep people in pens!”

  The giant jerked back as though I’d slapped him. “You are angry?”

  “Of course I’m angry! You keep humans like cattle! If you want to know what we sound like, listen to what they say before you eat them!” My stomach turned just to say it. “I’ve seen the bones your captains wear. And you want to protect your friends from me?”

  He drew in a great breath and nodded to himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased to learn I was angry or if he appreciated the explanation. “I have not seen these pens. They are guarded by the Deathless and I cannot approach them. We are told the voices of all liten deceive.”

  Deathless. Was that what they called the captains who wore the bone collars?

  “Who are you, lité?”

  Again, my heart raced. He’d mentioned Reggen’s tailor. I didn’t dare speak of sewing.

  “My name is Saville. I am”—what was I?—“my father and my mother’s only daughter.”

  “A she, then? I thought so.” He bent forward so that his head was near his knees, close enough that I felt his breath rush against me. He squinted, eyes trying to take in every detail. “But you are not dressed like a she, I think.”

  “It is difficult to wade in a dress.”

  “Yes. It must be. The water is big to you.” He nodded. “You are the size of our infants, though you would look odd to them.”

  The giant chuckled silently, hands gripping his knees. Just as I gave myself permission to smile, he stopped and grew serious. “Now. Why are you here? It was not to speak with me, I think.”

  “I wanted to see what the giants were like.”

  “Giants? That is what you call us?”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned back, his face retreating into shadow again. “Why else?”

  Did he think I was spying?

  No. I couldn’t sense any of his earlier anger. For whatever reason, he didn’t believe that I would—or could—hurt his friends. Then I realized that I did not mind telling this giant the truth. “My father died today. I didn’t want to sit alone and cry. I needed to … go away. I wanted to see what the giants were really like. I have heard rumors of what your army has done, but …”

  The giant sat still, head cocked, considering my words. Finally, he said, “Uten. We are uten.”

  I smiled. “To see what the uten were like.”

  “Good.” He nodded his approval, then sat still again. “I hear … sadness. May your father’s spirit find rest.”

  I found myself hoping the Tailor would find rest. More than that, I almost believed it was possible. I looked up at the giant. “You say you hear sadness and anger. What do I sound like?”

  “That is the first good question you have asked,” he said.

  I pressed my hand against the boulder, felt his voice rumble through it. His voice was the most real thing about him.

  “You sound like a bird from home, the little ones that nest in the mountain crags. Yours is such a small voice. But I hear more. What is it that you have not told me?”

  I saw his pick lined with moonlight and thought of the scout who had worn one. What if this giant knew him? What would he think if he knew my lies had tricked the scouts and caused their deaths? He’d kill me, and I wouldn’t blame him. Finally, I said, “I don’t want to tell you.”

  He scowled. “What?” He wasn’t angry. Yet.

  Surprised, I thought. I repeated myself slowly. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  “You refuse to tell me something?” He sounded tentative.

  “I do,” I said.

  He grunted. “I could make you tell me.”

  I sat straighter. “No. You could kill me. But you couldn’t make me tell you.”

  I watched him warily. His great head tilted as if he was listening for something.

  “Do not worry, little one. Now I know everything I need to know. I hear your heart, and I did not think I would.”

  I put a hand to my chest. “You hear it beating, then.”

  He nodded. “Yes … but that is not what I meant. I hear … more. What you feel. And that surprises me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Your voice is so small. I thought I would hear only … the words.” He shook his head. “If a bird—if a bug—spoke to you, lita, how would you know if it were happy? Or if it meant you harm?”

  “But I couldn’t hurt you, even if I did mean you harm,” I said.

  “You could if I trusted you.”

  His words were like a blow, driving the breath from me. I wanted to hide my face in my hands.

  “But I do not believe you wish to harm me.” He spoke slowly, as though he was discovering the truth for himself. “Go back to your city.”

  “You’ll let me go?”

  He shrugged. “What would you tell your rulers? That you spoke with a … what is your word? Giant. That the giant let you live? It would not change much.”

  “It might.”

  “I do not think so.” He stood and I saw him silhouetted against Reggen’s walls. “If you can return to your city, you deserve to live. I will go back to my camp.”

  I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

  “Wait. Please. I have two questions for you.”

  He cocked his head. “Yes?”

  “What is your name?”

  He smiled. “Volar, son of Kelnas. I cut the mountain halls for my people.”

  “I greet you, Volar, son of Kelnas,” I said, and curtsied.

  Another smile. He bowed from the waist like a tree bending in the wind. “Your other question, Hillock?”

  “Hillock?” I asked. “Why do you cal
l me that?”

  His chuckle rumbled through the stone beneath me. “It is what we call our children. There are mountains and hills and then hillocks, smallest and softest of all. You are a hillock, little one.”

  A hillock. The name made me smile.

  “Your question?” he prompted.

  “What do you hear in your duke’s voice?”

  His smile disappeared. Standing there, he looked like one of the Guardians—a great, grim being carved in stone.

  “Good-bye, Hillock,” he said, and strode out into the Kriva. “I wish you a safe return to your city.”

  “What if I want to talk to you again?” I called.

  He looked back at me, over his shoulder. “Come to this island.”

  “How will you know I’m here?”

  “I will hear.”

  Chapter 28

  And then Volar was wading back toward his camp.

  I blew out a deep breath, trembling with relief and surprise and the sense that I’d stumbled across something as magnificent as a sunrise. I had to tell Lord Verras.

  I waded into the Kriva, shivering as the water soaked my damp clothes. I slowly swam toward the cliffs, the current tugging at my shirt, carrying me downriver, farther from Reggen. I finally pulled myself up onto the rocky bank and crouched among the pebbles until my breathing grew even.

  It would be a long walk back to the caves. But as I picked my way toward the city, snatches of my time with the giant flashed through my mind: Volar lined in moonlight, his laughter through the rock, the name he’d given me—Hillock.

  A few hours before dawn, I quietly slipped back into Lord Verras’s empty room, shivering. The fire had died to only a few embers. I stirred it and placed a narrow log on top.

  Then I opened Lord Verras’s wardrobe, looking for dry clothes. I could wear my old pants, but I needed a shirt. A quick search revealed an old, shapeless coat. I peeled off the homespun pants, grimacing when I held them up for inspection. They now barely reached below my knees. I grew a little warmer when I stepped into my old pants. Off came my damp shirt, and I looked down at the binding I’d wrapped around my chest. It sagged treacherously. I glanced at the door before unwrapping it.

  I need to bind it differently next time I go into the Kriva. I draped the length of muslin over the back of the chair and pulled on the coat. It was rough, and like the pants, reeked of a stable. Next time, I’ll make sure I have clothing to change into.

  Next time. I was already planning to return to the island.

  I plucked up my old belt, fastened it around the coat, then settled near the fire. Tomorrow night, I’d learn more about the giant army and why it followed the duke. I’d talk to this giant who heard the sadness in my voice, who called me Hillock, and wished that the Tailor would find peace.…

  Peace.

  I put my head in my hands and wept—great, wrenching sobs that started in my belly and bent my entire body around them. I couldn’t stop and was too weak to try. I cried while the fire cracked and danced, wiping my eyes and nose with the sleeve of the shabby coat. When the grief finally released me, I curled up in the chair and fell asleep watching the fire.

  “Saville … Saville …”

  I woke up with a wild surge of hope that it was the Tailor, but could hardly open my eyes. Why were they swollen?

  “Saville!” Lord Verras stood before me, holding his pants with the shredded cuffs in one hand and my letter to Will in the other. “What happened here? I thought you were going to rest!”

  He took in the wrecked room: clothes scattered on the floor, yards of my binding draped over the chair, and me: hair loose around my face, wearing the champion’s pants and his own smelly old coat.

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to massage away the puffiness.

  “Saville?”

  I was still half-asleep, and I longed to sleep more. I’d had such nice dreams.…

  He pulled up the other chair and sat in front of me. “What happened?”

  “I left Reggen. I went out to spy on the giants.”

  He shot up. “You what?”

  “I found your map.…”

  “Found it?”

  I dropped my hands into my lap and looked up at him. “I looked for it, and after shuffling through that wretched mess on your desk—”

  “It’s not wretched.…”

  “I used the map to find a passage out of Reggen that leads to the Kriva. Then I swam to the giants’ camp.”

  Lord Verras dropped back into the chair. “Are you out of your mind?” Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “What did you see?”

  “Not much. I tried spying on the giants from the Kriva, where they wouldn’t hear me. Then Volar found me. He picked me up and—”

  Lord Verras leapt up again. “They discovered you?”

  “Stop jumping up and down like that. It’s distracting.”

  “I’ll jump up if I please!” he shouted. “Sky above, he could have killed you!”

  “I had to leave,” I whispered. “Just for a little while. And he … he was kind.”

  There’s no time to be soft, I told myself. It wasn’t just because Volar was kind.

  I looked up at Lord Verras, determined. “He didn’t believe the duke’s warning that all liten—that’s us—could kill them. He wanted to talk to me. I think he felt it was important that he could tell …” I shook my head. “No, hear, what I felt. I suppose you can’t be tricked so easily if you know what someone is feeling. But they can’t hear human emotion, so they can be tricked. Except … Volar could hear it, so maybe all the giants can and just don’t know it. How would they, with the duke telling them to stomp us?”

  I could tell Lord Verras was trying to make sense of all I was saying. “He just let you go?”

  “He did. But that’s not the important part. I asked him about the duke. Asked him what he heard in his voice.”

  “And?”

  “I could tell he knew something wasn’t right.”

  Lord Verras sat back in his chair, eyes on the far wall as he considered what I’d just told him. Then he said, “All this from one conversation?”

  “Yes. It was … like recognizing someone you haven’t seen since you were a child.” I saw Lord Verras’s skeptical look and hurried on. “I was scared at first. He was angry—told me not to hurt his friends. But he didn’t hurt me. And he could have. And he talked about home and how I sounded like a bird and … you’d understand if you met him. I wish you had.”

  Lord Verras nodded as if he did understand.

  “Are you strong enough to walk outside with me?” he asked. “The king wants to watch the giants and the duke from the wall today. He requested that we accompany him.”

  “He wanted us?”

  “He requested that I come, and I said I’d bring you.” Lord Verras must have seen the question in my eyes. “I told him I see better with you.”

  I wanted to thank him for seeing me that way, for meaning it, but he was pointing to a bundle perched on the desk. “I brought your dress. I’ll step outside while you change. Then you can tell me more about this giant—”

  “Volar,” I said, reaching for my errand-girl clothes. “His name is Volar.”

  Chapter 29

  An hour later, we were on the ramparts. I had hoped to hear more of the giants’ songs as we stood high above the city. I had wanted to feel the wind rush around me.

  There was no wind to break the heat. The sun bore down on us, sparking off bits of quartz in the walls.

  But there was a song as we neared the gates. A terrible one.

  The duke sat on a great throne outside his crimson tent. Giants had gathered in the clearing, hundreds of them. They sang a song that sounded like death, stamping to keep time. I could feel the ground shake, even though the Kriva flowed between us.

  I turned to Lord Verras, eyes wide. He seemed so confident, so sure I could face this.

  I swallowed the fear down until it was only a stone in my stomach and watched th
e giants.

  The ones closest to the duke’s tent—less than a hundred, I guessed—wore bone collars. “Volar called them the Deathless. They guard the pens.”

  Lord Verras nodded, eyes hard. “The Deathless. Those who wear death.”

  We could hear the crowd below. As Lord Verras and I neared King Eldin, I could see a ring of castle guard surrounding him, the princess, Leymonn, and … Will. He stood between the king and Leymonn.

  No, he was pinned between them. I could see Leymonn’s hand heavy on his shoulder, Will wincing at the grip.

  I glanced at Lord Verras and saw my own fury reflected in his eyes. His anger was a still and quiet thing—something he kept outside him so he could do what was needed. I looked back at Leymonn, his fingers curled into Will’s shoulder, and prayed I’d be there when Lord Verras let his anger loose.

  The king didn’t—or couldn’t—look away from the giants. And Will?

  Will looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. He patted his chest and nodded, his hand over the crest I’d sewn for him.

  I pushed the thunder of the giants’ song away and swallowed my fear once more, burying it so deep even Will wouldn’t be able to see it. Then I smiled and tugged my ear: Keep listening.

  He grinned at me, and I didn’t mind the giants as much.

  Until I heard a roar.

  The duke motioned two of the Deathless into the ring. They faced each other, and with a bellow, grappled like animals.

  The street below was packed with people of Reggen watching through the portcullis. Fear coated them like dust. I heard a few sobs as the giants continued to wrestle.

  When I looked back to the encampment, the duke was giving another order. He pointed toward Reggen, and another Deathless charged down the road toward the bridge.

  I kept waiting for the duke to call the giant back. He’d promised us till the fourteenth. I leaned over the edge of the wall, hands gripping the stones, not caring how much it hurt.

  At the last moment, the giant turned away from the bridge and ran to the willows that edged the Kriva. He took a handful of the curtainlike branches and ripped them aside. Then he wrapped both hands around the trunk and heaved against it, his great back straining.