The air was more crisp the higher they climbed, and the pines grew thickly along the road and up the sides of the mountains to their right and left. The river churned below and to the left of the road, swift and deep, and even if they could have figured a way to cross, the opposite bank of the river was too steep for horses and paladins to scale.
Nathaliey and Markal came around a bend to where the road changed angles and hooked higher toward the mountain passes. But first, it passed through a meadow, where the ground was flat and wide, and the river spread its banks to become a shallow ford. Most of the meadow was on the near side of the river, but it stretched for maybe another hundred feet on the opposite bank, too, before changing into a pine forest that climbed the mountain on the opposite side of the canyon.
A jumble of downed pine trees clogged the near riverbank. If the weather hadn’t been dry, and Wolfram hadn’t already made a comment about looking for low spots in the river, Nathaliey might have thought them uprooted by flooding, then swept downstream in a torrent where they’d come to a rest as the water turned shallow. But the riverbanks were dry and overgrown with grass, and the pine trees were still fresh and green, as if recently uprooted. There were maybe fifteen or twenty in all, pushed up in a heap where the road met the river.
“What do you make of that?” Markal asked.
“The giant’s shelter, maybe? Is it sleeping under that?”
“So close to the river? And if that’s the giant’s doing, it must be a brute to tear them up by their roots.”
They left the road and pushed through the meadow, thinking they could get around the jumble of trees to see what was on the other side. Nathaliey scanned the peaks overhead, still wary of griffins, and then down along the riverbank, wondering where this giant had gone off to since the scout spotted it. It wasn’t until Markal directed her attention to the meadow that she noticed the clear signs of use ahead of them. Horses had cropped the grass, and they came upon an abandoned campground, with fire pits, latrines, and a makeshift defensive palisade. It was a few days old, at most.
“What would you say, three hundred soldiers and thirty or forty horsemen?” Markal asked.
“Looks about right.”
“If we’re right, that confirms Sir Lucas’s report.”
Nathaliey glanced toward the heap of pine trees, but saw no movement in that direction. No giant, certainly. “So they marched west,” she said, “and shortly thereafter the giant arrived? Or did the marauders chase it off so they could cross?”
Markal pulled one of the sharpened stakes of the palisade from the ground. “Nobody who was worried about a giant attack would put up this flimsy fence as a defense, which means the giant arrived after they left.”
“And Bronwyn?” Nathaliey said. “She wasn’t with the main army. In fact, she must have passed this way only a few hours ago.”
“With fifteen other marauders. Too many to sneak past the giant.”
“Maybe she charmed it harmless. If Narud were here, we could do the same thing.”
“Narud can only charm animals, and a giant is . . . well, some other creature entirely.”
“Could we put it to sleep, at least?” Nathaliey asked.
Markal looked skeptical. “Maybe. But if we try and fail, we’ll have trouble.”
“Whatever we do, let’s not stand out here in the open. Sometimes these concealment spells break up at an unexpected moment.”
They left the abandoned Veyrian camp and warily approached the heap of uprooted pine trees, searching for an entrance that might lead into the shelter, if that’s indeed what it was. They were still fifty or more paces distant when a terrific crash sounded from the opposite riverbank. A pine tree shook violently in the woods, rocking back and forth like it was caught in a gale. Another terrific crash, and it disappeared among the other trees.
A giant emerged on the far riverbank, dragging the uprooted tree out of the woods with grunts and growls. It was a brute, at least sixteen feet tall—much bigger than Nathaliey had feared. Massive shoulder and arm muscles bulged beneath a crudely sewn cloak of deer and sheep skins.
Nathaliey and Markal stood frozen while it waded across the river with the uprooted tree in tow. Once on the other side, it wrestled the tree onto the bank, heaved it into the heap of trees blocking the ford, then waded back across the river, where it disappeared once more into the woods. Trees waved about, as if the giant were searching for one with a shallow root system.
“It’s not a shelter, it’s a barricade,” she decided. “The giant is heaping up all these trees so the Blackshields can’t cross the river.”
Markal looked dubious. “Did you see its eyes? I’ve seen more intelligence in a horse.”
“I’ve known some clever horses. Remember how your mare used to steal fruit from the saddlebags?”
“Nathaliey, this thing is a brute, and it will kill without warning, but it’s not capable of defending a river. Lying low and springing an ambush, sure, but purposefully tearing up trees to block a road?”
She gestured at the pile of trees. “How else do you explain this?”
“It didn’t come up with this idea on its own, that’s for sure.”
“That’s even worse.”
They retreated from the meadow and found Henry waiting down the road with the horses. The young scout led them east, and a few minutes later, they met up with Wolfram’s company, still coming up the road, but now mounted. The companions reported their findings.
“Sounds like my sister’s doing,” Wolfram said. “She must have enchanted the giant and made it defend the road to slow us down.”
Nathaliey nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”
“And can you break the spell?”
“We could probably break it,” Markal said, “but that wouldn’t drive the giant off.”
“He’s right,” Nathaliey said. “Giants are stupid, but they’ll fight with objects at hand.”
“I know that,” Wolfram said. “One pulled a bridge down on us.”
“Most likely it sees us coming and hunkers behind the trees,” Nathaliey said. “We’d have to come up the riverbank to get at it, or worse, climb over the barricade.”
“Unless we catch it while it’s on the far bank pulling up trees,” Wolfram said. “We could take the near side before it even realizes we’re there. Then when it comes across the river, we have the advantage.”
Nathaliey glanced behind her, at the men and horses traipsing up the road. “There are too many of us. Even if we keep the paladins quiet, it’s going to hear the horses.”
“Giants have excellent hearing,” Markal said.
“Understood. Let me discuss with my lieutenants.” Wolfram raised his voice. “Company, hold position.”
Wolfram tugged the reins and fell back to speak with Marissa and Gregory while the rest of the company milled about on the road. He looked grim when he returned a few minutes later.
“Sixteen feet tall, you say?”
Nathaliey glanced at Markal for confirmation. “At least,” she said reluctantly.
“Even bigger than the one we faced at the bridge. And this one has built himself a barricade.” He let out his breath. “Well, there’s no way up the road without going through the giant.” He raised his voice. “Blackshields, prepare yourselves for battle.”
#
The paladins entered the meadow in two forces. The first, larger force comprised nearly fifty paladins, led by Wolfram and Marissa. Sir Gregory led the second, which numbered close to twenty and would be held in reserve. These ones left their swords sheathed and carried spears. Gregory’s task, should it come to that, was to ride down the wounded giant before it could flee the meadow and stick it full of holes.
That was the optimistic assessment, Nathaliey thought. If the giant started to get the upper hand, Gregory’s forces would ride in to guard the retreat. She eyed the giant, who stood glowering in front of the mound of trees, a massive cudgel in its hands, as the paladins assembled with
their stomping, anxious horses. Its eyes were yellow and baleful, its beard a black thicket that hid its mouth, and veins stood out on its trunk-like neck. Each of its bare forearms was as thick as a man’s waist. It would take a fight, that much was clear.
Nathaliey and Markal pulled back from the others and dismounted. They tied their horses to a tree at the edge of the road and walked discreetly around the side of the meadow to better position themselves for the battle.
“This could get ugly,” Markal said.
“They don’t need to kill it,” she said, “only drive it off. How much pain can a giant tolerate?”
“I have no idea, and probably the giant hasn’t given it much thought, either.”
She glanced behind her at an opening in the woods where the giant seemed to have been pulling up pine trees, before apparently finding trees with shallower root systems on the far bank.
“You know, if it does run, this looks like a pretty good escape route.”
Markal raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that we’re the final line of defense?”
“I’m suggesting we should get the hell out of the way if we don’t want to be stomped by a wounded giant who has decided to make a run for it.”
“When you put it like that, you don’t make us sound very brave.”
“There’s a fine line between brave and foolhardy,” she said. “Is that what the pendant is doing to you, making you foolhardy? I’m going to take it away, if it is.”
“Don’t worry, my knees are trembling the same as yours.” He gestured. “What about over there? That looks like a more promising site.”
Markal moved away through the tall grass, and she followed. They stayed as close to the tree line as possible, trying to get around to the far side of the battlefield, where they could throw magic into the mix without drawing attention to themselves. But what magic, precisely? Without the strength of the gardens, or even the stone circle, it would take all their combined power to make a difference.
Wolfram gestured with his sword, and the fifty paladins at his command urged their mounts forward. It was a powerful force, and the giant shook its cudgel and bellowed, but looked about uncertainly. With any luck it would stay out front where it would be vulnerable to a coordinated charge, instead of taking refuge behind the barricade it had been so laboriously building.
Wolfram came to a halt about fifty feet in front of the giant. Nathaliey worried that he’d lost his nerve, but he seemed to be giving instructions. Horses tossed their heads, and paladins slapped palms against their black shields.
“Do we have something ready?” Nathaliey asked Markal.
“I’m thinking.”
“What about an illusion spell?”
“The giant is too big to be toppled by an illusion. It might confuse it for a minute, that’s all.”
“Not just an illusion. You cast that spell while I soften the ground. We’ll throw it off its feet, and Wolfram can do some damage while it’s down.”
“A soft ground will hit the horses, too. They’ll fall.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted. “What about . . . I don’t know. Volans malleis?”
“Now you sound like Chantmer. You really think a couple of flying hammers is going to do much?”
She eyed the giant, which was still staring insolently from behind its heavy brow. Markal was right; a few spectral hammers would be like striking a boulder with a stick.
“Fire,” she decided. “Look at its clothes—those animal skins will burn readily enough.”
“Now you’ve got something. Come on, let’s get closer.”
Wolfram shouted. The main force dug in their heels to urge their horses into motion. The captain himself was in the lead wave, and he ducked beneath a sluggish blow from the giant and thrust his sword at the creature’s ribs. It didn’t seem to penetrate the cloak of animal skins, but the giant tried to grab Wolfram as he rode past, and this allowed two more paladins to come in from the other side. One thrust a spear at the giant’s bare calf, and the other hacked at its hand with his sword.
The giant whirled about with a sweep of its cudgel, and the blow smashed into the horse of the rider with the spear. It crumpled and threw its rider, who lost his weapon as he went down. The man struggled to his feet as the giant lifted a massive hairy foot, ready to crush him to death. Others charged in to defend their fallen comrade. They hacked and slashed, and the stomping foot missed. The man scrambled backward and escaped through the mass of horses.
“Look to the sky,” Markal warned.
A solitary figure wheeled in the air high above the battlefield. A griffin and rider. Was it a sentry, trying to stir up trouble, or merely curious about the battle taking place at the ford across the river? Nathaliey suddenly felt vulnerable. If the griffin spotted the dismounted pair far from the battlefield, they’d be hard pressed to defend themselves.
The giant stood over the body of the dead horse and swept its cudgel from side to side, forcing its enemies to maintain a healthy distance. Wolfram seemed to be trying to lure it out, but the giant was having nothing to do with that, and kept its back to the heap of downed pine trees. A dozen paladins broke from the main force and edged around as if trying to get behind the giant. Drive it into the open, and it would be more vulnerable to attack, not to mention a charge from Sir Gregory’s reserve force, still waiting at the rear.
The griffin was still alone and remained far above them, so Nathaliey and Markal kept most of their attention on the battlefield, creeping closer until they stopped some sixty or seventy paces distant on the east side of the barricade. It was a vulnerable position if the giant spotted them, but any farther away and their magic would lose its effectiveness.
“I’ll cast the spell if you feed me the words,” she said. “Which one are you thinking?”
Markal shook his head. “No, a fire spell is wrong.”
“What’s wrong with it? The animal skins will catch fire easily enough.”
“Set its clothes on fire and the giant is going to jump into the water to put it out, and that is the opposite direction of where Wolfram is trying to push it.”
Meanwhile, the giant had spotted the attempt to get behind it, and swung its cudgel at the threat, smashing the ground and stomping forward menacingly, until it had driven back the small cluster of riders. Wolfram didn’t let the distraction go to waste, and he charged in with several paladins, then fell back just as quickly as the giant whirled around with a roar. A handful of paladins fired crossbows from the wings. Bolts bounced off its skin and zipped past its face, and the giant swatted at them like they were biting flies, but held its position.
“We have to do something,” Nathaliey insisted. “Wolfram has barely even drawn blood—that thing’s hide must be as thick as boiled leather.”
“Maybe they’re trying to tire it out.”
“Someone is going to be tired,” she said, “but it’s not going to be the giant.”
Indeed, with all the flailing about, the feints and withdrawals, it hadn’t been much of a fight after that initial skirmish. Wolfram seemed reluctant to engage, and the giant resisted any urge to draw it away from the barricade.
And then a lucky crossbow bolt hit the giant’s ear and lodged in the cartilage. The giant turned on the offending party, who came from the knot of riders who’d been working to wedge themselves between the giant and the pile of downed pines. They scattered with their horses as the giant thundered toward them, bellowing in rage.
Wolfram’s forces had been milling about, seemingly disorganized as they stayed out of the giant’s reach, but they broke into a charge the instant the giant set off after the offending crossbowman. Swords slashed and horses slammed into the giant to knock it off its target. It was about to overtake the crossbowman and his companions, whose horses were bucking in terror, when Marissa threw herself from her mount with almost suicidal bravery and landed on the giant’s back.
The giant roared and reached around in an attempt to
grab her. She’d be squeezed to jelly if it got hold of her, but she flattened herself on its back, holding onto the animal skins with one hand and stabbing with the other. The only effect of this was to further enrage the giant.
It was turning about now, tormented on all sides, an enemy still clinging to its back, and seemed to spot an opening. This was directly toward Markal and Nathaliey, and the ground shook as it pounded in their direction. Its eyes rolled back, and it whipped its head from side to side as if trying to shake off a pack of hornets. The thing seemed to have gone completely mad.
Gregory’s force came charging in from the wings to block the giant, and Wolfram ordered his paladins to give chase, but neither group would arrive before the giant overtook Nathaliey and Markal.
“Now,” Markal said calmly. “Now, is when I would suggest that we call up some fire.”
“You say the words,” she said, “and I’ll feed you my strength.”
Nathaliey placed her palms down and reached inside for her power. A familiar tingle moved along her arms and presaged the pain and the bleeding as Markal began the incantation.
He was only halfway through when the giant drew up short. Marissa fell off its back, her grip broken by the abrupt halt, and she rolled clear of its stomping feet while somehow maintaining her grip on her sword. The giant turned about suddenly, no longer in a panic, but calm and murderous, and swung its cudgel at the nearest paladin charging in from the side, who lifted his shield and spear. The cudgel was as thick as a small tree trunk, and it splintered the spear, smashed into the shield, and sent the paladin flying from his horse. He landed in a roll and tried to unstrap his shield from his injured arm while crawling away to safety.
The giant reached down and hoisted the paladin up by his jerkin. The man flailed, and two other paladins hacked and slashed, but the giant was full of rage. It lifted the man above its head and slammed him to the ground. The paladin didn’t move again after that.
The Black Shield (The Red Sword Book 2) Page 19
