The Giant Among Us (3 page)

The stranger’s bleary eyes widened in alarm. “By the Titan!” he cursed, trying to drag himself away. “I didn’t mean-“

“Relax. The arrow has to be nocked before the command works.” Tavis pushed the man back down. “How many more fog giants are skulking around this village?”

The warrior managed a condescending smile. “None, I suspect,” he said. “I was hunting only two. You killed one, and I injured the other. I doubt he’ll come back looking for trouble.”

“Probably not,” Tavis agreed, relieved to hear that Brianna would not be endangered. “But one can never be too careful. I’ll post a guard as soon as the company arrives. In the meantime, I’d better have a look at your injuries.”

The scout started to unbuckle the warrior’s mangled breastplate.

“That’s not necessary,” the stranger said, raising a hand to stop Tavis. “Just help me up.”

“Up?” the scout exclaimed. “If I do that, your insides will spill all over the ground. Take a look at yourself!”

The warrior obediently lowered his gaze. When he saw the rent in his armor and all the gore spilling out of his wound, his swarthy face grew as pale as the fog. “The armor will hold me together.” Despite his brave words, the stranger’s voice was quivering. “That’s why I wear it”

With that, he grabbed the scout’s shoulder and pulled himself to his unsteady feet To Tavis’s enormous relief, the stranger was right about his armor-nothing more than blood spilled from his ghastly wound. With an agonized groan, the fellow leaned over and retrieved his warhammer, then straightened his shoulders and started to lurch toward the pastures.

Tavis stepped to his side. “What are you doing?”

“Hunting down that giant I wounded, of course,” the man replied. “I trust you’ll be good enough to help.”

“No! Absolutely not! The last thing I want is more fighting!” Tavis was thinking of Brianna and the Company of the Winter Wolf, which he could still hear approaching through the fog. “Besides, in your condition, you couldn’t hunt a marmot. Come with me, and well have that wound looked after.”

The scout caught the stranger by a shoulder pauldron and gently pulled him back.

“Unhand me!” the warrior ordered. The fellow grimaced, then stepped forward, clearly expecting the scout to obey his command. “That giant’s about to escape.”

“Good. Let him.” Tavis retained his grip.

The stranger’s feet slipped, and he would have fallen had the scout’s grasp not been so secure. “How dare you!” the man blustered. He regained his balance and slowly turned around. “Do you know who I… ?”

The warrior found himself craning his neck to look into Tavis’s eyes, and he let his sentence trail off. He looked the scout up and down, his mouth gaping open.

“No, I don’t know who you are,” Tavis replied. He raised his open hand in the traditional sign of friendship. “But I’m Tavis Burdun.”

The man’s astonished expression did not change, and he showed no sign of recognizing the scout’s name. “You’re a firbolg!” he sputtered.

The scout nodded, surprised it had taken the stranger so long to notice that obvious fact As giant-kin, firbolgs were larger and more thick-boned than humans. Although Tavis was a runt by his race’s standards, standing only eight feet to the normal ten or twelve-he was still big enough that his ancestry should have been obvious. “Does my race bother you, sir?”

The warrior shook his head. “Of course not. I was merely surprised that I hadn’t noticed before.” Remembering his manners, the stranger raised his hand in greeting, then cringed at the pain this caused him. “You may call me Arlien, my friend. Now, I really must go if I’m going to catch that giant.”

He turned to leave, but Tavis caught him by the arm.

“What’s so important about killing that giant?” the firbolg demanded. The Company of the Winter Wolf was now so close that Tavis could hear Selwyn’s men calling through the fog as they struggled to maintain formation. “Is it worth the risk that you’ll be the one who dies?”

Arlien rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tavis,” he said, “I won’t get killed.”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead already.” The firbolg pointed to the man’s mangled armor. “And you still haven’t answered my question. What’s so important about killing that giant?”

The warrior regarded Tavis as though he were daft “I should think that’s obvious,” he said. “The churl assaulted me!”

It was Tavis’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s a reason?”

“It seems sufficient to me,” Arlien retorted.

“Perhaps under different circumstances,” the firbolg allowed. “But as it is, you can’t go.”

“I can’t go?” Arlien fumed. “And just how do you propose to stop me?”

“I’m quite sure Tavis would find a way,” said Brianna. “He’s a most resourceful bodyguard.”

The firbolg turned, then uttered a silent curse as he saw the queen quietly slipping out of the fog-well ahead of the soldiers assigned to protect her. She was extremely tall for a human, with a frame as sturdy as a man’s and a height just a few inches shy of seven feet. From what Tavis gathered, most men did not consider her beautiful, but to him she was the picture of elegance. She had a striking face, with clear skin, a dimpled chin, and sparkling violet eyes. Her long tresses were as fine as spider silk and more yellow than gold, while she had a lithe figure with long, graceful limbs and gentle curves.

Brianna stepped to Tavis’s side and began to look him over. “I heard your runearrow explode,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Thank you, milady. I’m well.” The firbolg addressed her in his best formal tone. Although Brianna’s attempts to conceal the romance between them were fast becoming a joke among her courtiers and earls, Tavis had learned enough about politics to know he should not flaunt their relationship before a foreigner. The scout reached over and gently turned Arlien so that Brianna could see the gaping wound in his side. “It’s our new friend who needs your services.”

Brianna’s eyes widened at the sight of the injury, and she stepped to Arlien’s side. “You shouldn’t be standing,” she said. “Lie down.”

“That’s not necessary, Lady,” Arlien protested. “I’ll be-“

“Dead, if you don’t let me heal this,” Brianna snapped. She scooped the warrior into her arms and lifted him off the ground, plate armor and all. “Clear a place for him, Tavis.”

As the firbolg began tossing stones aside, he could not help smiling at the dumbfounded expression on Arlien’s face. Lifting a fully armored warrior was ordinarily well beyond a human woman’s capabilities, but Brianna could hardly be considered ordinary. She had inherited the extraordinary strength of her Hartwick ancestors, and could easily have matched any firbolg in a contest of might. Tavis had even seen her father defeat hill giants in such competitions, and some claimed that the first Hartwick king had bested storm giants.

All this was lost on Arlien, who finally recovered his wits and resumed his protests. “Put me down, Lady!”

“Very well, but you will let me heal you!” Brianna replied. “This wound is more serious than you realize.”

A sheepish look came over Arlien’s face as the queen returned him to the ground. “Dear lady, I thank you for your kind offer, but I assure you it isn’t necessary,” he said. “My armor will heal both my body and its rents within a few days’ time, but you mustn’t interfere. The enchantment will vanish.”

Brianna’s cheeks colored. “Enchanted, you say?” She bit her lip, then demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Arlien’s face darkened, but he managed to force a rather insincere smile. “I was trying,” he said in a controlled voice. “However, in your kindly haste to look after my health, you neglected to give me the opportunity.”

Brianna’s smile turned to ice. “Well, I’m glad to see you survived.” She removed a clean bandage from her shoulder satchel and passed it to the warrior. “I hope that a simple dressing will not affect your armor’s magic. I really have very little desire to stare at your gruesome wounds.”

“That is a relief, Milady.” Arlien accepted the cloth, then turned away as he pressed it over the gash in his side. “I was beginning to think you rather enjoyed it.”

Captain Selwyn arrived with the first soldiers of his scattered company, bringing the argument to a temporary halt Tavis ordered the commander to have his men surround the area at a distance of fifty paces.

Brianna watched the Winter Wolves clang off to their posts, then fixed her coldest glare on Arlien. “By the way, what brings you to our kingdom? Cuthbert Fief is hardly the route most travelers choose to enter Hartsvale.”

Arlien’s eyes grew as hard as Brianna’s. “My visit is not your concern, dear lady,” he said. “But I will say this much: Your fief is in terrible peril. I’m sorry to report that standing before you is the sole survivor of a large caravan. A hundred of my fellows were massacred not far from here, by a tribe of more than two hundred frost giants.”

“Frost giants!” Tavis exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Arlien’s only response was a condescending glance.

“Where did this happen?” Brianna demanded.

Arlien pointed toward the fog-shrouded pastures, which the scout knew from past visits lay beneath a craggy wall of ice-sheathed peaks. “On the other side of those mountains,” he said. “Not three days ago.”

“And what of the fog giants?” Tavis inquired. “Where did they come from?”

Arlien shrugged. “I suppose from the cold mists beneath the Endless Ice Sea, like all their kind,” he said. “As to what they’re doing here, I can’t say. They were in the village when I arrived.”

Brianna cocked her brow and looked to Tavis. “What are we to make of this?”

The scout narrowed his eyes. “No good,” he replied. “Three different tribes of giants do not converge on the same fief by accident. I suggest we return to Cuthbert Castle and warn the earl to prepare for a siege.”

Brianna nodded, then looked to the stranger. “You did us a great service,” she said. “I invite you to share the safety of our company as we return to the castle.”

Arlien inclined his head. “Thank you, good lady, but I ask only that you point me in the direction of Castle Hartwick,” he replied. “I have business with your queen.”

A crooked grin crept across Brianna’s mouth. “Tavis, perhaps you should introduce me to your wounded friend.”

“Very well,” the firbolg replied, also grinning. He bowed to Brianna, then gestured to the newcomer. “Milady, may I present Arlien of… ” The scout let his sentence trail off, leaving it to the warrior to finish.

“Arlien of Gilthwit,” he said. “Prince Arlien of Gilthwit”

Tavis lifted his brow. He had heard rumors of a place called Gilthwit. It was supposed to lie somewhere on the icy plain between Hartsvale’s northern border and the Endless Ice Sea. By all accounts, it was a frozen waste of a kingdom, so overrun by giants that humans had been reduced to mere savagery. Judging by Arlien, at least, the rumors were wrong.

If Brianna was impressed, she did not show it. “I’ve never met anyone from Gilthwit, Prince Arlien,” she said. “In fact, I’ve always heard it was a legend, not a real place.”

The prince gave her a warm smile. “Isn’t it possible to be both, Lady… ?”

“Brianna of Hartwick,” Tavis filled in. He bowed to the prince, then finished the introduction, “Queen of Hartsvale, of course.”

Arlien’s face turned as gray as ash. “Annam help me!” he gasped, looking Brianna over from head to toe-all seven feet of her. “You’re the woman my father sent me to court?”

2
Cuthbert’s Keep

The trapdoor opened with a sharp bang, despoiling the twilight refuge Tavis and Brianna had created for themselves atop Earl Cuthbert’s keep. The pair stepped apart and turned toward the center of the roof, where they saw the horns of Arlien’s helmet slowly rising through the portal.

Tavis grunted in aggravation. Arlien had already spent the entire journey from High Meadow assailing Brianna with stories of his father’s lands. Now here he was again, chasing after the queen less than an hour after their arrival at Cuthbert Castle.

The scout took a deep breath, reminding himself not to be too harsh on the man. Arlien was a brave warrior and a decent enough fellow for royalty, and he had come a long way to court Brianna. Until the queen actually told him she was unavailable, it wasn’t fair to blame the hapless prince for trying.

Swallowing his frustration, Tavis went to the center of the roof and kneeled beside the portal to help Arlien up. The prince’s face had the pasty, ash-colored complexion of someone who had lost too much blood. He had covered his mangled armor with a red cloak, but even in the dusky light, Tavis could see a dark stain were the wound continued to seep.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” The scout could not quite keep the petulance out of his voice.

“How can I rest until your queen has accepted my apology?”

Brianna, who had retreated to the battlements that ringed the roof, turned to face Arlien. “But I have forgiven you, dear prince.” Her voice was as cool as the dusk breeze. “Did I not say so this afternoon?”

“Please don’t take me for a fool, Milady,” the prince replied. “I know the difference between true absolution and a diplomatic courtesy.”

Arlien allowed Tavis to clasp his wrist. The prince pushed off the ladder and together the pair hoisted his metal-cased bulk onto the roof. It was hardly customary for a warrior to wear a full suit of steel plate about the castle, but Arlien had explained that his armor would work its healing magic only while he was in it.

Once the prince had gained his feet, he looked directly at Queen Brianna. “I thought perhaps we could talk alone.”

“We’re as alone as we’re likely to be,” Brianna replied. “Feel free to say whatever you want in front of my bodyguard.”

Arlien glanced at the firbolg and shrugged. “As you wish,” he said. “I certainly have nothing to hide from Tavis.”

The prince took a large, flattish box of polished silver from inside his robe, then walked over to stand across from Brianna. Tavis followed close behind, positioning himself where he would see inside the silver case when it was opened. The scout doubted that Arlien intended any harm to the queen, but it was his duty to be cautious.