Against the Giants (6 page)

Malowan’s voice was enormous, filling the room. “Vlandar, it
really is you! Thought you’d be out riding around the hills like that last two
times I came this way! I’m here because the king is—partly, at least.”

Lhors eyed the man curiously. He wasn’t much taller or
broader than Lharis. A chain-mail coif covered all but the fringes of his
straw-colored hair, and he wore heavy-looking scale mail girt with a wide belt
that held two swords. Lhors’ eyes went wide as they fixed on the silver device
hammered into the mail from the man’s left shoulder to mid-breast. It was a
lightning bolt and fist, like the one on the shrine of Heironeous.

Vlandar settled on the bench and gestured for the newcomer to
join them. “Malowan’s a friend of mine—and a paladin. Mal, meet Lhors. His
father was once a captain here.”

“A captain!” The paladin smiled and held out a hand. “And now
you’ve come to join?” But he shook his head. “No, you’re here because something
amiss. I can see that much.”

Lhors simply stared at him, wide-eyed. Vlandar nodded. “Of
course
you’d
sense it.”

“Any paladin past his first pledge would,” the other man said
mildly.

“Lhors is from the hill country near the Yeomanry border.
Giants razed his village, and he’s just about the only survivor.”

“Heironeous have mercy upon them all,” Malowan murmured. His
eyes moved beyond the table, searching the street briefly. “I’m truly sorry,
lad. But, Vlandar, giants attacking a village? That’s unheard of!”

“It was,” the warrior said grimly. “But—have you eaten? If
not, sit anyway. I have a proposition for you.”

“Have you?”

Someone out in the street was shouting. The paladin’s
attention shifted briefly. He blinked and then settled on the end of the bench.
“I’m waiting for someone, as it happens—but I can listen, meantime.”

Vlandar made a concise story of it, but Malowan was already
shaking his head before the warrior could finish. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’ve
already taken on a matter that’s—well, never mind the specifics, but it’s a
full-time occupation. I’ll be glad to pass the word for you, though. Nemis is
back in the vicinity—or was, last I heard.”

“Nemis? You mean the mage? I heard he’d renounced the world
and turned hermit.”

Malowan came to his feet as a high-pitched argument broke out
somewhere down the way. “Hmm? Oh, he told me he liked his own company less than
that of a crowd. He’s a good mage, and he speaks Giantish, I think.”

Someone in the street uttered a piercing shriek. The paladin
glanced outside, then hurriedly got up, offered a quick, “Uh, excuse me,” and
was out the door.

Vlandar got to his feet and looked out the window. Lhors
followed his gaze. He could see the paladin sprinting toward the street, where a
swirl of people was trying to move away from the vicinity of the yelling. He
could just make out the tips of two blunted pikes pushing their way through the
crowd.

“See those pikes?” Vlandar asked Lhors. “Those are market
guards. Malowan may need my help. I’ll return.”

Lhors craned his neck, watching as both men vanished into the
crowd. He couldn’t make out a thing, but it was easy to see
where
the
problem was. People ringed an area ten paces or so across, and all the yelling
was coming from there. He could now make out guards in the melee, but not much
else.

“If I stay away from the guards, I’ll be all right,” Lhors
told himself as he edged off the bench and out the door. It was a moment’s work
to ease through the crowd. While there were plenty of curious types watching,
hardly anyone wanted to be too close to the guards—those pikes were used to
shove people around, after all.

Lhors slipped around a gray-haired woman in a faded blue
kerchief and all at once he could see just fine. Vlandar had a hand on Malowan’s
arm and seemed to be trying to pull the paladin away from four market guards in
the lord’s blue. Two of the guards were keeping a watchful eye on the crowd.
Malowan was arguing—but very politely—with the two other stone-faced guards who
clutched a grubby little street-urchin between them—possibly the cutpurse Lhors
had seen earlier, or another very like. The child looked no older than ten, but
its vocabulary was shockingly adult. Lhors didn’t understand half what the
little creature screeched, but now and again one of the guards winced. The
kerchiefed woman began muttering about ill-spawned children and what
she’d
like to do to this one in particular.

Vlandar finally seemed to gain control of the situation. He’d
pulled another guard from the crowd—this one had a red officer’s stripe on his
sleeve—and after a short discussion the guard thrust the child at Malowan. The
paladin gripped one dirty ear and silently pulled the little one through the
crowd, which parted around them. Several older boys snickered as the two passed.
The urchin lashed out with a stream of shrill curses and a kick. Malowan looked
exasperated. He mumbled something, scooped the child up over his shoulder, and
strode back toward the inn.

Vlandar was laughing and shaking his head as he came back
across the avenue. “That, my young friend, is Malowan’s ‘other business’. He’s
trying to reform a market thief. He has a ways to go, I’d say. Let’s go back
inside. I could use a pot of ale.”

To Lhors’ surprise, Malowan seemed to be waiting for them,
his skinny companion sulking on the bench next to him. “You hadn’t finished,
Vlandar,” he said as the soldier gestured for service. “You were about to tell
me why this expedition would be a useful part of Agya’s training.”

“To the nine hells with that
and
you!” Agya snapped
shrilly.

“Language, child. We’re discussing your future.”

“You ought not to have come out there,” the child replied
sulkily.

“You would have spent a night in the cells had I not. I
warned you. The guards know who you are and where you operate.”

“Only ’cause you told ’em, then!”

“I did not, and you
know
I do not lie. Agya, you’re
angry because you were caught, nothing more.”

Silence. The thief glowered at him and said nothing else as
the inn-girl came over to set cups on the table.

Vlandar waited until the girl was gone again. “You’re
considering it, then?”

Malowan nodded. “I’m thinking it’s easier to reform yourself
if old temptations are out of reach.”

“’Ere!” Agya demanded. “Just
what
d’you think you’re
plotting? ’Cause, just
maybe,
I’m not for it!”

Malowan smiled vaguely and set his elbows on the table.
Vlandar leaned toward him, and the two began talking in very low tones—and in a
language that wasn’t Flan—it sounded half snarls and throat clearing to Lhors.
Agya muttered something vile-sounding, then fixed angry brown eyes on Lhors.
“
You
tell me, then—if y’know, that is!”

Lhors swallowed. “It’s my village. Giants killed everyone.
Vlandar’s going to put together a force to go after the giants.”

“Wait,” Agya demanded. “That’s… it’s… Paladin, you’re
flat mad!”

Malowan shrugged, but Agya wasn’t finished. “None o’ that for
me. I’ll chance it rather agin th’ market guard and Dappney’s lads in th’ Sink!”

“You haven’t heard the offer yet,” Vlandar said.

“Giants.” Agya licked her lips. “D’you know what they do to
you? I’ve ’eard tales.”

“I saw,” Lhors broke in harshly. “I could tell you what’s
true, but I won’t.”

“Well, then!” the urchin tugged at Malowans belt. “Want me to
grow up honest-like? Not much chance of it, if we go where I’ll get killed and
et,
is there?”

“But someone with your talents—” Vlandar began.

“Which
he
says I gotta give up!”

“But there are ways for a thief to earn honor as a thief,”
Vlandar countered. Malowan looked none too happy about that reasoning.

“If
the thief lives long enough,” Agya spat back.

“Long enough to return home with wealth untold, treasure
beyond counting… ?” Vlandar paused. Agya was speechless. “Any treasure you
find—
if
you help us—is yours… to share with your comrades, of course.
But there won’t be more than ten of us.”

Vlandar waited. Malowan touched his friend’s arm and shook
his head. Agya was lost in rapt contemplation.

“Treasure,” the little thief breathed happily. “A
giants’ trove! Gems and gold, coins and jewels and amulets… a girl could set
herself up proper with a store of that!”

Malowan and Vlandar exchanged amused glances. Lhors’ jaw
dropped and he stared. “A girl could… you’re a
girl?”

Agya grinned at Malowan. “Fooled one, anyway,” she told the
paladin, who cast up his eyes. “Tell me ’bout this treasure.”

To Lhors’ surprise, Vlandar and Malowan sent word about the
city, not the lord or the king. The day after they were granted the king’s
blessing, the two men planned to interview candidates in Vlandar’s barracks and
the nearby practice yard. Fortunately, Malowan was as willing as Vlandar to
explain things to a village youth out of his element.

“The task has been passed on to Vlandar. Besides, some of
those Vlandar would like to recruit are the kind who won’t want any part of an
‘official’ company. On a journey like this, you want the toughest, and they
aren’t always law-abiding.”

Lhors had also assumed that by now he would be on his way
back to High Haven, but when he had suggested as much, Vlandar waved it aside.
“You have a right to be here to see us begin vengeance for your people.”

When the first two men—rough-looking fellows armed with nets
and pikes and clad in hardened leathers—came looking for the warrior, Vlandar
had both Malowan and Lhors with him.

Vlandar talked to both men for some time—Sterich mercenaries,
Malowan later confirmed. Lhors had seen such men once before but had never
entertained the idea of working with them. After a short interview, Vlandar
turned them down. Neither seemed particularly offended as they walked off.

Lhors shook his head. “They seemed very experienced to me.”

Vlandar laughed. “Yes, but not the kind of experience we
want. There’s a rumor those two men killed a companion a year ago so that they
wouldn’t have to split a purse of gold with him.”

“It’s not rumor,” Malowan put in quietly. “I
know
they
killed him.”

Vlandar shrugged. “We don’t want swordsmen who can’t be
trusted, but Olmic isn’t that good, anyway.” He dropped the subject as someone
else came in and hesitated in the doorway, eyes searching the room.

“Nemis!” The paladin held out his hands, and the newcomer
took them between his own dark-skinned, long fingers. “I thought you weren’t
interested!”

“I have changed my mind.” Dark brown eyes moved across the
other two before fixing on Vlandar. One eyebrow went up.

Malowan smiled. “Vlandar’s in charge here. You know of him,
don’t you? The young man is Lhors. The village was his. Lhors, Nemis is a mage.”

Lhors studied the newcomer with interest. The mage was tall
and lean, and Lhors would have placed him in his mid to late thirties. His hair
was long and curled, and his thin, sun-darkened face sported a narrow mustache
and neat little beard. He wore dark green trousers tucked into soft brown boots
and a long green tunic, held at the waist by a sword belt and a curious-looking
woven sash. A brooch of leather at his breast was carved with a pattern of three
diamonds. The sword belt held a plain rapier, and a matching poniard was stuck
in the sash. The mage casually leaned against a walking stick that looked as if
it might be a fighting staff.

“You’re a mage, so why carry those?” Vlandar’s eyes fixed on
the sword belt.

A corner of the dark man’s mouth quirked. His voice was low
and non-carrying. “I like blades, but only a fool depends on one strength.”

“I can vouch for him. He knows which end of a sword goes in
and which you hold,” Malowan said with a sudden grin, “even if he’s not much
better than that with them.”

Vlandar nodded. “I trust Mal, and I’ve heard of you, Nemis.
But why did you change your mind? Mal said—”

The mage shrugged. “Malowan hadn’t told me you were riding
against the Steading, against the giants. If you do, you’ll need me.”

“Oh? Why?” the warrior returned sharply.

“I have battled giants before. I know spells that work
against them. I’m good at what I do.”

Before Vlandar could reply, Malowan tapped him on the arm and
drew him into the far corner of the barracks room, where they talked quietly but
intensely for some moments.

When they came back, Vlandar held out his hands, palm up.
Nemis placed his hands on the warrior’s, palm down.

“Mal’s word is good for me, Nemis, but if there’s anything
you’d like to tell me before we leave Cryllor, I would appreciate it. An old
warrior like me doesn’t appreciate surprises, you know.” He turned to Malowan.
“Will we need another magician for healing spells, or can you manage that?”