Agya finished her task neatly and shoved the bag his way. “You left it out in th’ open where anyone could’ve taken those things we found,” she said severely. “I don’t trust half ’em, specially that boy.”
“Boy?” the paladin asked his ward in the sudden quiet. “I know Lhors is ill-trained—”
“Nah, th’other: Lord Pretty Prince of the Heavens.” Agya scowled at Plowys, who was pacing by himself and occasionally spinning on one heel to half-draw a blade. “Th’ rangers’ve asked him to give over before he cuts one of us, playing with his shiny toys in here. Ask me, let ’im play—if luck be with us, he’ll trip and skewer ’imself.”
“Harsh,” Malowan said mildly.
His ward gave him a hard-eyed look. “Nah. Harsh is what I’ll do to ’im if ’e does something to get you hurt.” She shoved the bag aside and leveled a finger at his face. “I know you. You’ll give someone like that tries and tries again and get yourself hurt trying to keep ’im safe.”
“Just as I did recently with a young market thief, a skinny girl masquerading as a boy and nearly old enough to be caught in that deception by the city guard—or her fellow thieves?”
Agya blushed and turned her back on him.
“We’re all flawed, Agya.”
“You know how th’ thieves guild uses girls,” she muttered, “or what happens to girl thieves tossed in th’ cells. But even if I weren’t ready to leave off thieving, I’d’ve done nothin’ to get you hurt.” Her chin came up. “And I never stole but enough to keep m’self fed.”
Malowan laid a hand on her shoulder. “I know, and now you shame me for reminding you. But you have changed. Perhaps Plowys can, especially this far from his mother.”
“P’raps,” the girl replied dubiously.
Malowan gripped her arm briefly then got to his feet to find out what plans had been set for the coming night.
Khlened snarled something. Vlandar leaped to his feet, but before he could utter a word, Maera cut him off. “Lower your voice, fool of a barbarian! The fake wall our mage put up to block the entry is to trick eyes not ears! They could have heard you down along the river, just now!”
Khlened grumbled under his breath, but Vlandar cleared his throat and chopped a hand for silence.
Vlandar was visibly holding onto a formidable temper at the moment. When Plowys and Khlened both began talking at the same time, the warrior snarled a curse that silenced both and left Rowan blinking in surprise.
“I was put in charge of this sortie,” Vlandar said evenly, “and all of you knew that from the first—including you.” He scowled at Plowys until the young man’s mouth twitched. “Now. I will often ask for opinions, particularly from those of you who have fought giants or can speak or read Giantish, or who have skills other and better than mine. I may even follow such advice if it seems sensible, but I am captain here. The responsibility for all of us—and to the king and Lord Mebree—is mine. I made my choices for tonight for my own reasons, and I am not called on to explain them. Do what you must to get ready, because we move out two hours before first light.” And with that, he turned away, beckoned for Malowan to follow him, and settled in the narrow corner where he’d spread his blankets.
“It was a poor choice putting me in charge of this bunch,” he growled.
Malowan smiled. “You manage well enough. How did you divide us up?”
Vlandar sighed heavily. “Khlened and the rangers are going to learn what they can about the door where the wolves and their keeper went. The northerner is upset to be put with females, and they in turn are offended by him. I put Nemis with you and Agya. You need to learn where that downstairs goes, and he needs to either copy that map or take it.”
“You plan on all of us getting inside unnoted by the residents?” Malowan asked.
Vlandar shrugged. “I do not believe the Steading is ultimately responsible for the attacks. Nosnra is a brutish oaf, cunning but not a planner. If he does report to someone else, I want to learn who and if there is a way to find that someone. We may decide to do as much damage to the Steading as we can before going after Nosnra’s superiors then. Likely not, though. If Nosnra learns what we’re up to, he’ll warn his superior, if he is taking orders. Better if we can avoid walking into a trap, don’t you think?”
“Of course.”
“I will take Lhors and Plowys to see what else we can learn from the feasting hall, then join you in the council room. I don’t want any of us wandering off. Our goal should be to get in and get back out with that map and anything else useful.” Vlandar sighed again. Now he sounded merely tired. “I need your help, Mal. We can’t go into that fort in this mood.”
“I agree,” Malowan said. “We act as a team or die as individuals. I’ll talk to Khlened and the rangers. Young Plowys—he won’t listen to me. You’ll have to do your best with him.”
* * *
But as it turned out, there was no need for anyone to search for information on the Steading’s arrangement. When Nemis went through the scrolls Malowan had brought back, he found a detailed map of the main floor.
“I see the steps you found, Mal,” the mage said and pointed them out, “and another set here, just off the kitchens. But there are no plans for the lower level.”
“This is still useful,” Vlandar said. “It tells us there is a lower level—though I was certain of that anyway. Besides, there appears to be no reason for us to go anywhere but that council chamber.”
Khlened stirred. “Then this will be no sneak raid?”
“Yes,” Vlandar said flatly. “The council room is here”—he pointed out the small chamber not far from the north wall—“so if there are guards in the corridors, we avoid them. If we cannot, of course, then we kill them as quickly and quietly as we can.”
He glanced at Nemis, who was gazing at the scroll. The mage’s expression turned suddenly grim, but Vlandar didn’t think anyone else had seen this. “Everyone eat something and make certain your gear is ready. We leave shortly.”
He waited until everyone but Nemis and Malowan had moved off, then touched the mage’s arm to get his attention. “What is it? What does it say?”
Nemis tapped the scroll. “It is a set of orders on where and when to raid certain villages in southern Keoland—the dark of the next moon. I cannot tell where it was written.”
Malowan spread the scroll out. “But it is signed, isn’t it? That certainly looks like a signature to me.”
“It is signed,” the mage replied grimly, “by one ‘Eclavdra’.”
“Eclavdra?” Vlandar asked. “Is that a place or a person? Can you tell?”
“I can tell.” Nemis swallowed. He looked tense. “I had hoped I would not need to tell anyone this, but I see no way past it. Eclavdra is a drow, a dark elf.”
Malowan shook his head. “I thought there were no drow left anywhere in the Flanaess!”
“Not in, but under,” Nemis said. “They left the surface ages ago. They live in deep caverns and when they do attack, it is in secret, and they leave no survivors.”
“Well,” Vlandar said dubiously, “then how do you know about them?”
“Because the man who was my master in my apprentice days sought out the drow and pledged himself to their service in exchange for whatever magic they could teach him. They do have some like my old master who serve as their ears and eyes above-ground. Daylight is painful to them. Furthermore, they are so unlike any other race that they would be known for what they are. They are small and delicate to look upon, very black-skinned, with silvery hair. They are dire fighters and dread sorcerers. My master was bound to serve Eclavdra.” Nemis licked his lips. “When he died, I found a way to escape the drow.”
“You said nothing of this back in Cryllor,” Vlandar said. “Why, I wonder?”
Nemis gave him a bitter smile. “Because I knew you would look at me the way you are now. ‘He dwelt with drow. Perhaps he served them. Perhaps he is their spy.’ I could think of nothing I might say to persuade you t
hat I am not. I still cannot.”
“You forget that I can tell if a being serves good or evil,” Malowan said mildly. “Give me your hands.” He gripped them gently then shook his head. “You are no servant of evil, Nemis, though I had no doubt of that before now.”
“That is good enough for me then,” Vlandar said.
“Thank you,” the mage said simply. “I see nothing else useful in this, and no way to tell where Eclavdra is. If she remains in the great underground city where I left her, there is nothing we can do about her.”
“Then we will do what we can to render her servants less useful to her,” Vlandar said. He waited until the mage went off to his spellbook, then eyed the paladin sidelong. “You are certain of him, Mal?”
“I am.”
“You had better be,” the warrior replied. “Meantime, you and I need to go over this map. I want no dithering once we are inside.”
* * *
It was still very dark when the party crouched in a close huddle near the top of the hill so that Malowan could orient them. The air was cool and damp, and a misty rain fell now and again. By the time they were ready to move on, Lhors’ hair was plastered to his skull where his hood had developed a hole. In the still, pre-dawn air, the party could clearly hear two deep-voices growling curses or insults at each other from the fortress.
Nemis translated in a soft whisper. “That is the tower guard—two young ones who are wet, cold, and out of ale. They have a long hour before the relief guards come, and it is so foggy that they can’t see anything anyway.”
“Not really watching, then,” Khlened whispered.
Plowys scowled at his hands. At the moment, he wasn’t speaking to anyone. Just as well, Lhors thought, since he had a carrying voice and a whisper sharper than Khlened’s.
As Lhors triple-checked his quiver of javelins, Vlandar gripped Malowan’s fingers and nodded. The paladin started down the slope with Agya on his heels and Nemis bringing up the rear. The others waited. It remained quiet except for the distant conversation of the two guards.
“Rowan, go,” Vlandar breathed.
The ranger eased out of sight, Maera close behind her. Khlened stayed behind only long enough to sheathe the spear he carried. Smart of him, Lhors decided. A man could stab himself, if he slipped on his way down. Lhors checked his own blades for the fourth time to be certain nothing was likely to come loose.
A few more moments passed, then Vlandar tapped Plowys on the shoulder and started down the slope, gesturing for the others to follow. Lhors remembered to take a slow count of two before following. As he reached the shelter of the boulder and brush, he could just make out the sound of a dislodged stone some distance below. Fortunately, one of the tower guards began coughing as if he’d choked on something. His companion broke into raucous laughter.
Vlandar set off once again, Plowys ahead of him and Lhors coming last. The ground beneath his feet was crumbly, but it leveled out before very long.
The fog was thicker down here, and the early morning was still very dark. Lhors could see little except for Vlandar’s reassuring form just ahead of him, but as they reached the main doors, he could make out Agya doing something to the doors. Picking the lock, he assumed.
A moment later, she stepped back as Malowan and Nemis leaned into one of the huge slabs of wood. The door moved quietly back, just enough to admit them. The mage pointed to the opening and shook his head, signaling that there was no one on the other side of the door. To Lhors, the sight of that vast door three times his height and thicker than his arm brought home that they were about to enter a mighty hall, full of the dreadful creatures that had destroyed his home. He bit his lip.
Vlandar was going in first, sword in one hand and a heavy-bladed javelin in the other. Plowys was right on his heels. The rangers followed. Khlened trailed after, then Malowan and his ward. Nemis gave Lhors a smile probably meant to encourage him and gestured for him to go next. Lhors’ fingers moved across his dagger hilt—much good that would be against even a half-grown giant! He pulled three javelins from his pack, gripped one in his throwing hand, and drew a deep breath as he crossed the threshold. Nemis eased the door shut behind him.
There was little light except for a flickering torch partway down the passage that led to the guard tower. The place reeked of mold, rotting food, and other things—he didn’t want to think about what they might be. Vlandar turned to smile, then gestured for him to follow.
Rowan and Maera, listening intently, flanked the double doors leading into the great hall. Khlened stepped forward to try the doors, but the rangers gestured a firm no.
Overhead, one of the tower guards was still coughing, and his companion snarled something. The coughing subsided, there was a sudden thump, then Nemis grabbed Vlandar’s arm. “Everyone out of sight!” he hissed urgently. “One’s coming down for wine!”
Vlandar signed, enemy coming! Rowan, Maera, and Khlened were already out of sight. Lhors ran for the rack of cloaks, and as he hesitated, Rowan leaned out to gesture for him to join her. Lhors did, but he moved the cloak just enough so that he could still see.
Massive feet clomped down the wooden steps. The others seemed well hidden. Lhors could see none of them except for Nemis, whose lips moved silently—casting a spell perhaps. A keg near the tower hall briefly glowed a dull red as the wizard’s magic set in. Some sort of revealing spell, perhaps? Lhors wondered. The mage moved the other way, clambered over a long bench along the west wall, and dropped out of sight.
Lhors’ attention was drawn away from the passage as he saw movement in the center of the room. Someone stepped out from behind a stack of kegs. Lhors could scarcely believe his eyes. Before anyone could catch him, Plowys had thrown himself back into the open and begun brushing frantically at his hair. Bugs from the cloak, Lhors thought. They must have a nasty sting.
Vlandar leaped back into sight, grabbed the would-be hero’s arm, and began to try to haul him past the cloak rack. It wasn’t much shelter, and Vlandar was checking to make sure the corridor beyond was empty when Plowys caught his breath.
Light from a torch down the passage shone full on his face. Vlandar clutched at Plowys’ arm to pull him back but missed. The youth ran forward, drawing his sword as the door creaked open and a hill giant stepped into the room. The gigantic wretch was as tall and dirty looking as those who’d attacked Upper Haven, but he was obviously very drunk. The stench of foul ale and cheap wine overpowered even the smell of the chamber. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, and he held his spear in a wobbly, loose grip.
The giant stared at the youth, visibly puzzled as to how the young man had come to be here. Plowys stiffened in shock at the sight of the creature. The giant was more than twice his height and obviously more of a foe than the youth had ever faced. The point of Plowys’ sword wobbled, and he took a hesitant step back.
The tower guard took two quick steps forward and with one swift motion, skewered Plowys on the end of his spear. Plowys’ sword rattled to the floor as blood and bile gushed from his mouth and nose. Lhors leaned back against the wall and bit his lip, praying he wouldn’t be sick.
Just then, Nemis spoke—another spell, perhaps. Lhors forced himself to move, hands tight around his javelins. Vlandar came up next to him, swords at the ready, but the young giant stared at them blankly. The spear fell from his hands, and Plowys collapsed lifeless to the floor.
“Leave him be,” Nemis said very quietly. “I put a spell of forgetfulness on the guard. He will come out of this shortly, fetch that cask, and go back the way he came. We will avenge our companion at a more opportune time.”
True to the mage’s word, the ensorcelled guard lumbered over to the wine cask, his spear and the corpse completely forgotten. He hefted the barrel, wobbled uncertainly, then proceeded back up the stair.
Malowan came into the open and gazed down at Plowys, his face expressionless. “Thank the gods it was swift and that he didn’t bleed much.” He glanced at Vlandar. “We cannot leave him here.�
�
Vlandar was tight-lipped and pale. Grief and rage played across his features. “No,” he rasped. “We’ll go, all of us. We can take the body back to the camp and bury him. Khlened, you and the rangers go now to make certain there’s no one outside. We’ll gather Plowys and follow.”
“We’re leaving?” the barbarian asked. “Because of—”
“I don’t want us splitting up, and we can’t leave him here to be found. We’ll try again tomorrow. Do as I say, Khlened. Now.”
Khlened mumbled under his breath, but he turned and helped the rangers drag the door open. After a brief glance out into the fog, he followed Rowan out.
Malowan gathered up Plowys and gestured for Agya to go. Once the girl was out the door, Vlandar grabbed the spear and pulled. There was a sickening scrape as the haft ran against bone, and another gush of blood splattered onto the floor.
Lhors winced and clamped his jaw shut. I will not be sick! he thought.
Plowys’ dead face, his eyes wide and staring, gazed up at the ceiling. It had obviously been a painful death, but a quick one. He had not suffered long.
“Gods,” Vlandar gasped. “Curse the young idiot for his foolishness! I should have been watching him more closely.”
Malowan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “You did what you could. It’s too late to assign blame to anyone. What’s done is done.”
Vlandar nodded. His jaw tightened as he turned away from the corpse. He leaned the guard’s spear in the corner and mopped up the worst of the blood with a cloak. After bundling the sodden fabric, the three of them hefted the corpse and left the chamber.
Against the Giants Page 9
