Once they were close enough to speak without shouting, Bom said, “I am Maomnosett Bom, son of Bok, grandson of Ott. I lead a small group of giants and trogmortem who wish to see no more death. I beg you do not hold me responsible for the actions of my father and his father before him.”
Ychorell shot a skeptical look at Denigran before replying, “What about the beast next to you?”
Lito-Bi bit his lip and replied in as measured a tone as he could muster, “My kind, we do not look like you, but we are not animals. I am tired of fighting for others’ desires. I seek only peace. They call me Lito-Bi. I cannot tell you the name of the one who named me, as I never met him. My mother was Dana-Ra. She was strong. She taught me to be to be a warrior. I lost her to sickness and fight only to honor her name, not conquer kingdoms.”
“I am certain my companion meant no disrespect,” Denigran began, “but you and your kind are twice the size of the largest of men. On top of that, your hands and your teeth are weapons at least as effective as any sword or axe. Please forgive our trepidation, but the very ground on which you stand soaks with the blood of our kin.”
“We have suffered great losses on both sides,” Bom replied.
“An equal number of my kin lay strewn about this field,” Lito-Bi added.
Ychorell finally piped in, “You may be right. Maybe we’re all beasts then, but them dead men rotting in that field died defending their own when your kind tore their bodies up with fangs and claws. All of you are invaders here. If you want to talk of peace, we will listen. But there probably won’t come a time when I count you as friend.” After a few deep breaths, he added, “I am Ychorell, proud to ride for the mighty fallon of Havenstahl.”
“They call me Denigran. I ride in support of Havenstahl under the banner of Druindahl, great protector of the Dragon. If you want to speak of peace, the leader of your group may accompany us into the trees to meet with our general,” the dragon rider added.
Lito-Bi shook his head in frustration, “No. That is not fair, nor is it equal. How can we know you do not intend an ambush?”
“You cannot,” Denigran shrugged.
Before the trogmortem warrior could say anymore, Bom interceded, “This group has no leader. We all are equal, but I will submit to your request in the name of brokering a peace with you. Looking at the devastation surrounding us, I understand why it would be difficult to see us as friends. However, my grandfather has not abandoned his desire to bring your kingdom to heel. We would be good friends to have.”
“I do not like this,” Lito-Bi scowled at Ychorell as he clenched his jaw tight.
“This is about trust,” Bom smiled. “Try to see it from their perspective. We are the invaders. They cannot possibly be certain of our motives. All they can know is I could tear their bodies in half with my bare hands.” He smiled at Ychorell before adding, “One giant against twenty men is a fair fight. Their horses will not help them in the trees.”
Bom’s last statement certainly sounded like a threat. Truthfully, Ychorell did feel threatened. However, faced with the same set of circumstances, he would probably respond the same. On top of that, the giant was submitting to their demands exactly as stated. Not that he or Denigran would have entertained any kind of negotiation of terms, the point was moot. He looked over at Denigran and nodded toward the trees.
“To the trees then,” Denigran said to Bom.
“We will hold here,” Lito-Bi said flatly as he watched Bom follow the two riders toward the tree line.
The small group had only made ten feet toward the forest when the riders lined up at the edge of the trees pulled back. Bom felt confident they would refrain from killing him outright. It would be foolish. If they had the numbers to go to battle right then, they could have done just that. Their horses would certainly be more effective in the open field than stifled by thick trees.
The riders of Havenstahl were off their horses with swords drawn when Denigran and Ychorell arrived. They formed a semi-circle behind Kantiim who sat upon a fallen tree. He hailed Bom as the two men guiding the giant dismounted and joined the group behind the old general, “You have nothing to fear from us, just precautions. Please,” he pointed to a large boulder across from him, “have a seat.”
“Your words offer very little in the way of comfort with all the swords aiming at me,” Bom smiled.
Kantiim offered a humorless chuckle, “I have seen hundreds of men literally ripped to shreds by your kind. How many of us could you kill even with those swords?”
“Please do not try selling me an idea where men are helpless,” Bom countered. “I watched a man kill my father, the terror himself, in single one-on-one combat.”
“And that man nearly died for the effort,” Kantiim kicked a small stone. “Let us move beyond this. You came flying a white flag. Where I come from that means some variation of peace. No harm will come to you provided you sit on that big rock and speak quietly with me about why you are here.”
“Very well,” Bom said as he sat down. “I was opposed to this campaign from the beginning, but honor is of great import to my father. His god, my god, laid a command upon him. He died for it, and my grandfather damned his memory for the same. That was the final straw for me. This is your land. We have no need for it. We have our own land. It is beautiful. Have you ever seen the sun set across the stony desert?”
“What is the stony desert?” Kantiim asked.
“It would probably seem desolate to you. This is beautiful land, lush and full of life. My home is not lush, but it is full of life. The mountains there are not covered with green. They are stony, and when the setting sun bathes them in all his glory…” he trailed off lost in a memory for a few moments before adding, “Well, it is breathtaking. Any words I could offer as a description would fail to convey the majesty of it. Perhaps one day, after all this fighting is done and my kind leaves this place, you could make the long voyage across the Great Sea and look upon it yourself.”
“I would love to see it someday, but what does that have to do with your presence here?” the old general asked. “You appear to be marching on the broken castle I am defending.
“It should be very simple based on what I have told you,” Bom shrugged. “I am done killing to steal land. This is not my fight. However, I cannot simply walk away. After looking across that bloody waste, all that senseless destruction, I have come up with a new cause, a cause I believe in for which I am willing to fight. You and your people deserve to live in peace. My grandfather would shatter that peace with war. I want to help you stop him. The group travelling with me shares my desire.”
Denigran shot a look at Kantiim and shook his head.
Kantiim shared the sentiment conveyed by the gesture. “I have encountered many men far wiser than me during my lifetime, but I am by no means dim. It sounds to me like you are suggesting a willingness to kill your own kind, because you are tired of fighting. You seem quite wise yourself, probably far wiser than me. Would you accept such a tale from me were our numbers and situations reversed?”
“Not immediately to be sure,” Bom smiled. “Consider this, however. With a brief whistle, I could call one-hundred fierce trogmortem to these woods to cut you down. I have not done that.”
“Cutting down twenty men ain’t getting you no closer to your goal of taking that castle,” Ychorell contended.
“I had thought of that, how this must look,” Bom frowned. “Earn your trust and convince you to welcome us into your keep while the rest of our force follows closely behind waiting for the signal to attack. All I have is my word.”
“And I do not know you well enough to take you on that word,” Kantiim spoke softly.
“You do not,” the giant agreed.
Kantiim roughly scratched at his beard as he stood and looked up toward the canopy. Both Ychorell and the giant were completely correct. They were at an impasse. Three giants and one hundred trogmortem would be invaluable to help defend against the coming storm if they really could be coun
ted as allies. Could they be trusted? That was the question. Answering incorrectly would be fatal. After a few moments of near silent contemplation—he barely noticed he was mumbling as he scratched and thought—he walked over to Bom and stood before the giant.
“Look in my eyes,” he commanded.
Bom obliged. Kantiim failed to see any madness or malice in those eyes. The giant looked earnest. If he were lying, he was an expert.
Kantiim’s head slowly began nodding as he quietly said, “Fine, your group will accompany us back to Havenstahl. I will bring you before my general, Daritus.”
Recognition sparkled in Bom’s eyes.
“Yes, the same man who killed your father,” Kantiim continued. “Are you prepared to face him?”
“I am,” the giant replied earnestly.
“I do not like this one bit,” Denigran piped in.
“None of us do, not me, not you, and not our new supposed friend and ally,” Kantiim glanced over at Denigran before locking his eyes back on Bom’s. “You will make a vow to me on this day in front of these men, the forest, and whatever god to which you pray. You will fight to protect these lands against your own kind who seek to destroy them, and you will raise no hand in malice against any man under the protection of Havenstahl.”
“I pledge this to you,” Bom’s eyes remained just as earnest.
Kantiim leaned in a bit closer until his nose was nearly touching the giant’s, “Betray me, Maomnosett Bom, son of Bok, grandson of Ott, and I will kill you. My sword will find your throat.”
Bom’s expression did not change as he replied, “I believe you.”
Chapter 20
The Feats of our Fathers
Heights were not something Daritus feared. However, the rickety thing fashioned from ropes and wooden planks he traversed hundreds of feet above the river Galgooth had him reconsidering. The great drawbridge was being rebuilt for at least the second time. Never did he imagine he would be overseeing the effort. He had been the cause of at least one rebuilding effort when Cialia rescued him from the pits of the very castle he sought to rebuild. So much had changed since then.
The men were doing good work and making good time. They had been at it for weeks and managed to remain well ahead of schedule. Proper work on the castle could not really begin until a solid solution for bringing in materials was constructed. Daritus surveyed the effort alongside Danick, an engineer from Druindahl who was heading up the effort. The man looked every bit the wayward soul, always carrying a good bit of grime on his ill-fitting, torn clothes, but Daritus considered him a genius. He had a way of seeing a problem from angles most folks simply could not perceive. Function was never sacrificed in favor of beauty, but the man had an uncanny way of considering both and somehow managing to leave neither out of any plan he had ever concocted.
“The old bridge was solid. I found the plans they used to construct it. Truly, there was not much for me to improve upon. Look there,” Danick’s eyes moved all over the structure as he spoke. It seemed a thousand ideas ran through his head.
Daritus pointed at a fallon’s rack carved into the end of a plank—matching etchings adorned every tenth plank—as he said, “The fallon racks, hand carved? Do those add some structural integrity?”
If Danick noticed the sarcasm, he did not let on, “No, no, no, those are for identity. Of course, that is not as important as function or structural integrity, but those are the little things folks remember. These men are making art. And they were not hand carved. Those were burned into the wood with brands crafted in the forge. It survived the destruction, as did many of the swordsmiths. Can you imagine the pathways of Druindahl without the images of Dragons etched all about them?”
“Fair enough,” Daritus replied. “They do add a bit of character to this massive thing.”
“They do,” Danick agreed while pointing toward the main gate to the city, “but look there. That is where we really made some improvements.”
“What am I looking at?” Daritus saw ropes and gears, all exposed as the coverings had yet to be installed. The genius of whatever Danick was excited about was completely lost on him.
The architect shrugged, “I suppose it does not look like much to the untrained eye, but you will never find a smoother operating drawbridge in all Ouloos. What they had was fine, completely functional. It was all based on a weight and pully system, but the gearing was all wrong. The way we fixed it up, one man could raise or lower this behemoth, and it will not crash to bits if someone defeats the brake.”
“That is why you are in charge of this effort,” Daritus smiled.
As the two men walked along the makeshift bridge, Daritus looked with awe on the massive stones used to construct the outer wall of the city growing less and less concerned about the wide-open space between him and the rushing river below. Danick took it all in stride. He had been planning and building his entire life.
“The ingenuity of men has always impressed me,” Daritus marveled. “Our city in the trees, this massive castle…just look at the size of those stones. How did they even build something like this?”
“The same way we will,” Danick remained unmoved. “I will tell you this. I am greatly impressed by the condition of the stones which were torn down. Some are crumbled, cracked, or useless, but many of them can be used as is. We will not require much from the quarry.”
Daritus stopped and faced the builder, “Tell me this castle does not impress you in the least. I am in awe of this structure and the things men can make with their hands and their minds.”
“It is an impressive thing, equal at least to anything I have ever seen,” Danick conceded. “But these old eyes have seen quite a bit. This castle will be at least as spectacular once we have finished putting her back together.”
Daritus had to grab a tighter hold of the rope railing he had been casually gripping as the bridge began swaying. Danick did not seem disturbed by it at all, but the great general of Havenstahl’s army was suddenly aware again of the great distance between he and the river below. He turned to see a scout hurrying toward him. A few deep breaths kept him from screaming at the poor bloke and embarrassing himself.
“General, my commander, Tarturan, sends me with word from Alhouim and the surrounding forests,” the scout called out. He had obviously just arrived; his face and clothes still carried a good bit of grime from the trail.
“Are they words I want to hear?” the general asked as Danick bowed and departed.
The bridge finally stopped shaking and swaying as the scout drew near enough to Daritus to have a conversation without shouting. The brave general—man amongst men and killer of giants—did his best not to let any of the relief he felt seep into his expression. He was just glad all that bucking and swaying had not motivated the contents of his guts out of his mouth and all over the damned rickety bridge serving as the only thing keeping him from plummeting to the rushing waters below.
“Some, yes. Others, probably not,” the scout answered once he had caught his breath.
Daritus thought for a bit before saying, “I usually like to hear the good news first. I have just had a bunch of that. What is the news you are less excited to share?”
“The king of Alhouim remains missing. His absence has General Bindaar in a horrible state. He has been acting irrationally, and some of the other dwarf generals are concerned he may do something rash,” the scout rattled everything off while standing firmly at attention.
Daritus took a breath and shook his head, “Take a moment, scout. What is your name?”
“My father named me Tiegran, sir,” the scout rattled his response off in the same formal fashion.
The old general smiled warmly as he reached out and grasped the young soldier’s forearm, “Tiegran, that is a solid name. My father named me Daritus. Unless we are formed up ready to march off to war, it would please me greatly if you would refer to me as such. Drop the general and the sir.”
Tiegran blushed slightly as he gripped Daritus’ f
orearm, smiled, and replied, “Thank you, sir. Forgive me, Daritus. You must understand what a thrill it is for a young recruit like me to meet you. You are a legend, the giant slayer. I would wager all the coin I call my own that you could not find a campfire where tales of you besting that monster, Bok, in the bloody waste were not leaving at least one man’s lips.”
Now the old general blushed. He fancied himself a humble man, but he could not help but feel a bit of awe when he thought about it. A man killed a giant, and he was that man. Despite feeling more than a bit boastful in his head, he replied quite humbly, “I did only my duty, as any other man serving to defend this castle would. The men raise my name to heights I do not deserve.”
“Do you really believe that?” Tiegran laughed.
Daritus laughed just as hard as he gave the scout a firm pat on the shoulder, “It is bold of you to say so, but you are quite correct. You have seen right through me. I still cannot believe it was me, that I did that.” He looked west toward that place where he bested a giant in battle and paused for a moment. Then he added with a sly grin, “Legend, you say?”
“Not just me,” Tiegran gleamed, “all the men. Serving under the command of the mighty Daritus, protector of Dragons, slayer of giants, and unflinching leader of men, is an honor. It is like having a god on your side.”
“Your words lift me up and humble me at the same time. I only hope I am half the leader they believe me to be.” His smile faded as he changed the subject back to troubling news, “King Doentaat is lost and the general, Bindaar, is losing control. They were housemates before one became a king and the other his most trusted general. It must be difficult for him. We can only hope his fellow generals can keep him from making any foolish mistakes. Is that the extent of the troubling news, or do you have more disheartening tales to tell?”
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