Against the Giants (37 page)

Nemis is shielding sound, Lhors reminded himself as he slid
along the wall. He watched as Vlandar let go his blades and leaped back just as
Rowan drew her bow. The ranger ran into the open and began loosing arrows at the
heads of the second creature.

Now or never! Lhors ran along the wall to snatch up one of
the long spears. The first ettin fell to the floor, but the second must have
seen Lhors moving, for it turned and charged with a vicious roar. So terrified
that he couldn’t even scream, Lhors planted the spear’s base against the wall
and lowered the point. The ettin tried to stop at the last moment, but one of
Rowan’s arrows plunged into its groin, causing the brute to fall. The point of
Lhors’ spear went in beneath one of the ettin’s jaws, angling up into its
skull. The spearhead must have slammed into the back of the giant’s skull,
because the shaft suddenly bent and broke with a massive
snap!

The youth dropped the broken shaft as the creature fell. Breathing heavily,
he leaned against the wall with the dead ettin only inches from his feet. Above
the nasty stench that was everywhere in this land, he could smell the rough
cast-iron reek of the blood pooling on the floor.

Rowan came over and wrapped an arm around his shoulder,
drawing him away.

Lhors glanced back over his shoulder: Vlandar gazed
expressionlessly at the dead ettins. He’d already retrieved his blades. Vlandar
and Nemis joined them moments later.

“My silence spell still holds. The king’s throne is there.”
Nemis pointed out the dais at the opposite end of the long hall. “Obviously, he
is elsewhere. There is a hiding place he has behind the throne somewhere in that
wall. The rest I do not know, except that there are guards on all the passages.”
He turned north and was quiet a moment. “The stairway down is that way.”

“Where’s the king, d’you think?” Khlened asked. He’d drawn
his berserker sword.

“Uncertain,” Nemis said. “He could be anywhere. Unlike
Nosnra, he does not keep regular hours, and he often prowls his halls alone or
with a guard or two.”

“Fine,” Agya said angrily. “I feel mighty safe
now.”

“You’ve no business feeling safe here,” Malowan reminded her.
“What next, Vlandar? Do we—?”

He never finished the sentence. Nemis murmured a hasty spell
that extinguished the ettins’ torches as loud footsteps echoed and the creak of
armor suddenly filled the hall. Somewhere to the east, a door slammed.

“Remember what I said,” Nemis rasped to Vlandar. “Safest
thing is to kill Snurre.”

“I agree,” Vlandar whispered. “But let’s see who and what
guards him before we attack.”

He led the company back to where the ettins lay and settled
behind the nearest, sword drawn. The rest of the company found what hiding they
could as four torch-carrying guards came into sight at the hall’s far end.

Lhors swallowed dryly. The shortest of them was over twice his height. All
were ebony-black and looked very professional.

In their midst, walked a very odd figure indeed. He was
shorter than his guards, but powerfully muscled and clad in black armor.
Tusk-like teeth gleamed in the torchlight, and his moustache and beard were
nearly the same unpleasant orange-moss shade as his teeth.

Agya stiffened as two enormous dogs paced along with him,
sniffing the air suspiciously. Both hounds had very deep red hides, and their
eyes glowed with a hellish light. Malowan laid a reassuring hand on her arm and
carefully indicated Nemis—the mage was using his beneath notice spell on the
party.

The tusked giant flipped a white, leathery cloak aside so he
could sit, then adjusted his black iron crown and drew a massive, thick-bladed
sword. He settled the sword upright on the dais before him and rested his
forearms on the crosspiece. The hounds dropped to the floor by his feet and
closed their eyes, but they seemed no less alert.

“Snurre?” Vlandar whispered despite Nemis’ silence spell.

The mage nodded grimly.

One of the guards moved off to light torches placed in the
back wall, throwing the throne room in a ruddy orange light. An ornately carved
flaming skull decorated the wall immediately behind the throne, and the other
walls were carved in various battle scenes.

Khlened tightened his grip on his morning star and began to
move forward, but Nemis tugged at the barbarian’s hair. “Wait until he takes off
that cloak. It’s dragon-hide, and he’s less of a threat if it isn’t on him!”

The barbarian nodded agreement.

The mage waited for some moments, then glanced at Vlandar and nodded. Vlandar
drew a hand across his throat, and Khlened grinned cheerfully. The dwarf loosed
his axe, and Rowan knelt quietly to arrange arrows onto the floor by her knee.
Maera pressed a listless Florimund behind her as she freed her javelins.

When everyone was ready, Nemis stepped toward the dais, and
the rest of the party charged. One of the hounds growled a warning—the only
advance notice Snurre and his guards had of the attack. The second dog went down
before it could properly get to its feet as Maera’s spear plunged into its
chest.

Snurre stared down at his pet in shock, then shouted an
order. Like other sounds, it sounded flat to Lhors, as if it didn’t carry very
far. The guards could certainly see the invaders, though. They came around the
throne, weapons at the ready, and the other dog surged to its feet. It whined
faintly when its master snarled out an order and abruptly retreated behind the
throne, dragging at a lever on the wall. Part of the wall swung into an utter
blackness into which Snurre leaped. The hound spun around and loped after
Snurre. The two vanished into darkness, and the wall clicked shut behind them.

There were three guards still left, but one was foolish
enough to turn away—making sure his king was safe, Lhors thought. Bracing
himself for impact, Lhors shoved his spear deep into the monster’s leg, just
below the knee and angling up. The giant went down hard as Lhors leaped away.

Vlandar ran forward and brought his sword down two-handed
across the brute’s neck. The guard did not move again, but another was fast upon
them. The giant came at them, hammer held high. But it never came down. Maera’s
spear and Rowan’s arrows brought the creature down, and Bleryn finished the
fellow off with his own hammer.

Beyond them, Khlened was engaged in a mismatched battle of morning stars—his
own, though bugbear in size and heft, was still smaller than the fire giant’s.
The Fist was using strategy, planning his own swings so the giant’s weapon
wouldn’t rip his from his fingers. Before he could settle the match though, the
giant snatched up a fallen sword and lunged. Khlened howled with pain and
collapsed as the blade stabbed through his shoulder.

Vlandar threw himself forward and dragged the barbarian aside
as Agya stabbed both her long knives into the back of the guards knee. The guard
yelped in surprise when the leg simply collapsed under him. Agya barely managed
to get out of the way in time.

The fallen guard lunged after the little thief, but Lhors
charged forward with his spear, stabbing the fallen brute through the eye. Lhors
turned, seeking the last guard, but he lay still, his armor red-hot and his hair
smoking unpleasantly. Malowan’s fire-sword pinned him to the wall.

“Easy, people,” Vlandar ordered. “Agya, you and Lhors keep
watch. Bleryn, watch back the way Snurre came and make sure no one sneaks up on
us. Malowan, see to Khlened’s wound.”

The barbarian leaned against the wall. He was still standing,
but blood coursed freely from his shoulder and he was obviously in agony. The
paladin ran to him and began to lay hands upon the wound. Malowan’s hands glowed
for the briefest instant, and the barbarian gasped in surprise. As the paladin
stepped back, Khlened smiled and waved the healed arm freely. “Thank you,
paladin,” he said. “I’m in your debt.”

“Gerikh,” Vlandar continued, “if you can, find a way to
disable the door Snurre went through so he can’t come after us with an army.”

“He’s won’t,” Nemis replied evenly. “He’s gone to ground.
That’s both a treasure cave and hiding place with no other way out.”

Khlened looked up, his eyes bright at the mention of his
favorite word.

The mage sighed. “Forget it. The whole place is guarded by
something snakelike, huge and nearly impossible to kill.”

“No time,” Vlandar said tersely.

“We need to go, now,” the mage whispered as he came back. “My beneath notice
spell won’t hold much longer.”

“No time like the present,” Vlandar said. “Which way though?”

“Back where we came and up the north hall,” the mage replied
promptly. “Remember, we’ve little time to waste here, even with Snurre in
hiding.” He looked at Gerikh.

Gerikh nodded. “I found the doorway and braced one of those
long spears across it. It wont hold against a brute like that for long though.”

“Let’s go, then,” Vlandar urged. He let Nemis take the lead.

They headed back through the darkened hall, avoiding the dead
ettins, and took the passage heading roughly north. This finally went straight
north—a fairly long corridor lit at odd intervals by lanterns. The unmistakable,
if distant, clatter of a kitchen came from the left, and the wall down a
west-branching passage was lit brilliant red from some enormous fire.

By now, Nemis was well up the hallway, his back against the
east wall and two fingers across his lips.
Guards there,
he signed and
sent his eyes sideways to where they could just make out a break in the black
stone. The mage held up two fingers and drew a meaningful hand across his
throat.

Vlandar nodded grimly and brought up his sword, but Nemis
pressed past him and stepped into the open, turning to face the opening as he
brought his hands up, fists clenched.

“Kill,” he rasped softly. Utter silence followed, then the
muted clang of swords hitting the floor and two massive bodies falling onto
them. The mage nodded in satisfaction and pointed up the hall.

Lhors glanced anxiously at Malowan. The paladins lips were
moving, probably in prayer for the dead guards, but he was quiet about it.

The hall was still quiet. They stepped over dead guards and
went on north, following Nemis.

“The stairs down are just there,” the mage murmured. “There w
ere
no guards between here and the stairs the last time I was here, but that was
years ago.”

They made it down the long flight without incident. At the
base of the stairs, they paused to rest. Lhors took a long drink from his
bottle, and let the warm water sit on his tongue for some time before
swallowing. He felt dry all the way through, and his lips were cracked.

“This level I know,” Nemis said finally. “The passage
east”—he pointed—“is a dead end. There’s a temple, guest quarters, and trolls
that way—or were. I doubt anything’s changed. It had not in all the years
Eclavdra had come here, and they were many more than all of my years. Still,
unexpected guards do patrol at intervals in case someone is mad enough to break
into this place. Walk warily.”

“Trolls or somethin’ comin’ this way right now!” Khlened
whispered tensely. “And we’re in the open. Back up the stairs?”

“No,” Vlandar said as he scrambled to his feet. “Straight
across into the passage.”

They ran for it. Moments later a party of a dozen or more
armed creatures clomped by and vanished around the bend, heading east.

“The prison cells are nearby,” Nemis said after the din of
heavy footsteps had faded. “Mal, I hope you will not—”

“I have Agya to protect here, before anyone else,” the
paladin broke in.

“Good,” the mage said gravely. “Remember that.” His lips
moved silently. “I’ve just set a silence and reveal enemy spell both. We should
rest here a little. The drow guest chamber is not far away, and we need all our
strength against them.”

It was very dark in the lower level of the palace—dark, dry
and hot. The place they hid was so dark that Lhors couldn’t tell whether it was
a chamber, a passage, or a niche cut in the wall. There seemed to be dead air
behind them, and a faint but unpleasant odor like things long dead. Lhors
shuddered and forced his attentions elsewhere.

Test your spears. You can do that by feel. Make certain the
wood is not cracked or the points loose.
He’d learned the trick from his
father years earlier, how to do that in full dark and not lose a finger. The
spears—he had only two left—were still in good shape. So were the expensive
daggers that he’d nearly forgotten about. It took him a moment to remember
Plowys’ name. After all that had happened since the fellow had died on their
first foray into the Steading, Lhors was surprised he could remember that much
at all. He was astonished when he counted up the long daytime rests that counted
as their nights. Plowys had died only six days earlier, but it seemed like a
distant memory. Lhors’ life had become little more than running, hiding,
killing, and more hiding. In between were times of restless sleep that brought
only bad dreams.