by Ford, Shae
Chapter Five
A Fool’s Help
“What in all clods was that?” Dingy hissed. He spun around, and Kael saw that he did, indeed, have a knife stuck in his right buttocks. He yelped when Dred reached forward and yanked it free.
“I’m not sure,” Dred muttered, inspecting the bloody knife. He stiffened when a second note trembled through the air, more annoying and ghastly than the last. His knuckles whitened around his pike as he took a few halting steps forward. “Let’s move out — quietly, now. And don’t forget the rat.”
One of the giants jerked Kael to his feet. “What’s this?” His hand closed around the wallet of throwing knives and Kael heard the leather snap as he ripped it free. “No more pokey thorns for you,” he said, waving the wallet in Kael’s face. “Now get trotting.”
Kael did have to trot to keep up with the giants’ long strides. They moved quickly down the road — and every time a note danced through the air, they seemed to move faster. It wasn’t long before the moon slipped beneath the clouds and hid the land beyond in darkness.
When the giants stopped to light more torches, Kael noticed that they held their pikes much tighter than before — and their heads never stopped swiveling.
“It’s Scalybones,” one of the giants hissed, when a particularly screechy noise came out of the scrubs to their left. “Oh, he’s getting closer!”
“He’s going to make shirts out of our scalps.” Dingy had removed his helmet and was running a hand worriedly through his stark white hair. “Mum used to say — ow!”
Dred smacked him smartly across the head. “Scalybones is a myth — nothing more. And I’ll prove it.”
Without warning, he stomped over to the scrub bushes. Kael hardly had a moment to be worried before Dred jabbed the butt of his pike into the middle of them. There was a thud and a sharp yelp.
“Ha!” Dred reached into the middle of the bushes and flung the wraith out among them — lanky limbs and all. The giants swore and jumped backwards; several held their weapons protectively over their chests. But Kael was far more furious than scared.
Jonathan the Fiddler looked up at him sheepishly. An angry red patch was swelling rapidly over his eye.
“There’s your Scalybones,” Dred said triumphantly. “It’s naught but a spindly little forest man.”
“Ah, not just a spindly forest fellow,” Jonathan sprang to his feet and drew his bow across his fiddle in a less-atrocious note, “a bard of the realm, at your service.” He bent rather clownishly, swinging his arm out beside him in the courtliest of gestures.
Kael silently begged him not to overdo it.
“A bard, eh?” Dingy said, rubbing his sore rump thoughtfully. “We could use one of them. Lord Gilderick’s hall needs music.”
Dred made a frustrated sound and flicked one massive hand towards the road. “Then we’ll let His Lordship decide what to do with him — if he doesn’t mince us on sight, that is. Move out, blisters! We’ve got a long road and a short while before sunrise.”
They forced Jonathan and Kael to the front of the line and set a fast pace for Gilderick’s castle. Though they had to move at nearly a half gallop to keep the pikes off their backs, the giants were far from sympathetic: they lowered their weapons and made it clear that they would stop for nothing.
“We’ll carry you in by your ribs, if we have to,” one of them called, drawing a round of jeers from the others.
It wasn’t long before the hard-packed road began to make Kael’s legs ache. He could feel his boots rubbing large, twin blisters into his biggest toes. But he hardly noticed his discomfort.
He was still too angry with Jonathan.
What in Kingdom’s name had he been thinking? It didn’t matter what sort of evil awaited them in Gilderick’s realm: giant warriors, witches, a vat of two-headed snakes — with enough time to think, Kael knew he could escape any cage they threw him in. But now that he had Jonathan tagging along, escape would be much more difficult.
He waited until the giants’ chatter billowed up again before he shot the fiddler what he hoped was a dangerous look.
Jonathan licked his lips. “Now, now — I know you’re upset —”
“Blasted right, I am,” Kael snapped back. “You should’ve gone with the cart. I won’t be able to save you if they take you into the castle. You do understand that, don’t you?” he added, when Jonathan opened his mouth to retort. “This isn’t going to be like sacking the Duke — there’s no dancing in Gilderick’s realm. And there’s very likely no escaping, either.”
Jonathan was quiet for such a long moment that Kael’s anger cooled and he began to regret what he’d said. The giants had been about to turn around for camp, after all. And Jonathan’s ruse had given the pirates the chance to escape. They might all be in irons, had he not led the giants away.
Kael was just about to apologize when Jonathan spoke: “You’re not stupid, Jonathan,” he muttered, a small smile pulling at his lips, “but you are a fool! That’s what Garron always used to say to me. He said I was one of those blokes who could never get his boxes stacked in the right order — and that I shouldn’t be surprised when the whole lot came tumbling down on me. Maybe I should’ve gone with the cart,” he touched the skin around his swollen eye gingerly, “but I couldn’t leave you on your own. So come blisters or bruises or ole Gildepants, himself — you’re stuck with me, mate.”
“You are a fool,” Kael said back. But he couldn’t keep his face serious for long under Jonathan’s silly grin. He broke into a smile — and punched Jonathan in the arm when he laughed. After a moment, their smiles turned serious once again. “I’m going to get us out of this. Somehow, I’ll figure out a way to get us back to the seas.”
“I know you will, mate,” Jonathan said cheerily. And as his typical winking eye was already swollen shut, he just tilted his head to one side. “Though preferably in a way that doesn’t involve a pair of coffins.”
Kael promised that he would try.
*******
Lord Gilderick’s castle rose up like a boil upon the earth. Its red, rounded walls were swollen thick against invaders, its jutting towers stood high out of reach, and the front gate was sealed tightly shut. The way its massive beams and bolts crossed over each other made it look like a set of clenched teeth.
To the right of the gate was a large, squat tower — and judging by the mismatched color of its bricks, it was much older than the rest. The tower was connected to the castle by a covered passageway. Huge white clouds of smoke streamed lazily from its top.
If Kael blurred his eyes, he thought the whole thing looked a bit like a red skull smoking a pipe.
When they were a quarter of a mile from the grinning front gates, the road suddenly forked into three. The giants ordered them to a halt, and then began bickering amongst themselves about what to do with their captives. All the while, the sun crept closer to dawn.
“We’ll take the bard to the castle,” Dred finally said. His ruined lip twisted into a sneer. “If His Lordship doesn’t like him, I’m sure he can think of something … inventive, to do with him.”
With a round of unsettling laughter, the others agreed.
“And what about the rat?” The giant with the chest wound narrowed his gray eyes at Kael. “We’ve already got a soul for Grout — we don’t need him. Leave him in my charge for a moment, Dred. I promise I’ll leave not a speck behind.”
Kael met the giant’s hard look with one of his own. For a moment, he was actually hoping that Dred would leave them alone. Morris had taught him well, and even a giant would have gaps in his armor.
But unfortunately, that wasn’t what Dred chose. “No, we can’t waste a slave — not even one as scrawny as that,” he added, jutting his chin at Kael. “Take him to the fields, Dingy —”
“Why me?” he moaned.
“Because I order it.” Dred coupled this with a sneer. Then he grabbed Jonathan around his belt and hoisted him to the top of his massive shoulders. As the
giants sprinted away, Jonathan hung limply on his belly, bouncing up and down like a half-filled sack of potatoes.
Kael had hardly taken three steps before he found himself plucked from the road and draped uncomfortably across Dingy’s shoulder. His armor bit into Kael’s stomach, pinching him in places where he didn’t think he’d had any skin to spare. He propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows, trying to keep the armor from biting him.
Half of his concentration was bent on not being jostled to death, and with the other half, he tried to get a good look at Gilderick’s fields.
The Atlas claimed that the plains had the richest soil in the Kingdom. He’d found several drawings hidden in its pages: of green pasturelands, fields bursting bright with color, and orchards heavy with fruit. There had been giants in the drawings, too. He remembered the smiles on their painted faces as they worked the fields, sometimes hoisting monstrous vegetables from the ground, or wandering with their scythes propped across their thick shoulders.
But the fields he looked at now were nothing like the pictures in the Atlas: they were empty.
Large chunks of the earth had been scraped away, marring the land with a patchwork of dark, damp scars. The patches stood out like scorch marks in the dry grass, as if the whole land smoldered in ruin. Though he looked as far as his eyes could reach, Kael saw nothing green in sight: just dismal shades of black and brown.
The stars were still out, but several hulking shadows were already making their way across the fields to work. Kael recognized the thick limbs and plodding steps of the giants, and he knew that these must be Lord Gilderick’s slaves.
He’d spent the winter reading the logbook they’d stolen from Duke Reginald. And from what he could gather, Gilderick had divided the giants into two groups: those who were willing to shed blood to join his army, and those who weren’t. The giants who’d refused to join him had become his slaves.
Kael watched the slaves from around Dingy’s massive head. Some of them hoisted tools across their shoulders, but even those with nothing at all still seemed to carry a burden: they were hunched over, their backs were like the curve of a bow and their heads were tethered to the earth — held down by some unrelenting string.
The giants who worked the fields had refused to bow to Gilderick, and so he’d bent them under his whips.
Anger swelled in Kael’s chest when he thought of what a proud race the giants had been. He was determined see pride straighten their shoulders once more. He would see them bent back — and Gilderick would pay dearly for what he’d done to the plains.
Kael was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that Dingy had come to a stop. The road had finally ended in what looked like a small, dusty courtyard. Four identical barns hemmed its edges, forming an almost perfect wall. Something that looked like a small cottage was perched atop the roof of each barn. Their doors had been marked crudely with dripping white paint: N, S, E, and W.
Dingy was stopped at the barn marked N. His shoulder dropped suddenly, dumping Kael onto the ground.
“That had better not be for us.”
A narrow flight of stairs led up the side of the barn and to the cottage perched at its top. The man who’d spoken stood on a small porch outside of the cottage, leaning against the rails.
He had a pinched face and a wad of something trapped behind his lower lip. His scarlet tunic was emblazoned with the gold, crossed sickles of the Endless Plains. Kael couldn’t help but notice the wicked-looking black whip strapped to his side.
“You’ll take what you’re given and smile about it, spellmonger,” Dingy growled back.
Spellmonger? Kael had to bite his lip to keep from swearing aloud.
Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Of course Gilderick used his mages for slavemasters — how else could he have hoped to keep the giants under control? So even if Kael hadn’t been captured, his plan would’ve still fallen apart. The pirates wouldn’t have been able to fight against the mages. He would’ve led them all straight to their deaths.
Kael wasn’t used to being fortunate. He supposed that he should be grateful, but he was still too furious with himself to feel relieved.
“We won’t get even an hour’s work out of that rat,” the mage complained, his lip tightening around whatever it was that he held against his gums. “I’m tired of getting all the cast-offs. Stodder thinks his pens are so much more important than everything else — and he sticks me with all the sicklings!”
Dingy smirked. “Well, if you’re so upset about it, why don’t you ask His Lordship for a better stock? I’ll take you up to the castle, myself.”
The mage’s face, if possible, pinched even tighter. He leaned forward and spat in answer. A trail of brownish liquid landed near Dingy’s boots.
He smirked all the wider “I didn’t think so. That didn’t work out so well for ole Ludwig, now did it?” Dingy shrugged as he turned for the road. “Put him to work, or throw him in the Grinder — the rat’s your problem now, spellmonger!”
“Meat-headed oaf,” the mage spat back, but Kael doubted if Dingy could hear it over the noise of his own chortling. “Finks!” The mage gestured to someone over Kael’s shoulder. “You lost one of your beasts yesterday, didn’t you? Why don’t you take the rat?”
“An excellent idea, Hob.”
Kael had hoped, as he turned around, that Finks wasn’t going to look as wicked as he sounded. But for not the first time that day, he was severely disappointed.
Finks stood before the barn marked W — a slight man with hunched shoulders. His slick black hair was pulled back into a horse’s tail, and bound so tightly that it stretched his skin thin across his temples.
When he spotted Kael, his lips parted into an impossibly wide grin. His teeth seemed too long and too numerous. His smile looked like the same one a serpent might’ve worn, had he found something to laugh at. And Kael shuddered to think about the sorts of things a serpent might find amusing.
Finks drew the black leather whip from his belt and swung it almost lazily in Kael’s direction. The whip flicked out, snapping loudly at its end.
Something grazed Kael’s shoulder. It was slimy, like the belly of a fish. The heavy, thick scent burned the sensitive skin on the inside of his nose. Without thinking, he scratched madly at the itch that sprang up where the spell had struck him.
Finks seemed to mistake Kael’s annoyance for a grimace. His lips twisted higher about his teeth. “There’s more where that came from, rat. You’ll hurry up if you don’t want another.”
Kael followed him at a jog.
Finks led the way through the fields, and Kael’s worry deepened with every step. Sneaking out of Gilderick’s realm was going to be more difficult than he’d thought.
If the mages were in charge of keeping the slaves, it meant there would be plenty of spells to deal with. They’d probably use magic to seal the slaves’ quarters. Would there be hexes on the doors, as there had been on the gates of Wendelgrimm? Would there be traps?
“One of my horses went lame yesterday,” Finks said, interrupting his thoughts. He’d slowed his pace while Kael had been thinking. Now they walked side-by-side.
The stench of magic on Finks’s breath was nearly unbearable. Kael turned his head away and focused on breathing in the smells of the earth instead.
Sunlight was beginning to creep across the fields, and he could see that the giants were already hard at work. Teams of three pushed plows back and forth through the earth: one giant guided it from behind while the other two pulled the blade along, doing the work of beasts. They leaned hard against their harnesses; their muscles strained through their ragged clothes as they dragged the plow forward. The lines they left behind them were as tight as the seams on a traveler’s cloak.
Kael searched for a long moment, but he swore there wasn’t a single horse in sight. Then he realized that Finks must have been referring to the giants as horses. He couldn’t stop the anger from burning across his face, and Finks
must’ve seen it — because he took it as an invitation to press on.
“Broke his ankle on a rock, poor little horsey.” Finks swung his coiled whip through a clump of dried grass. “I tried to … persuade, him to rise,” his next swing bent the top of a weed, “but he refused. He just lay on the ground, moaning and carrying on. So I had no choice but to send him to the castle. Don’t worry — I’m sure Gilderick will patch him up nicely.”
And Kael was sure, if Finks kept talking, that the Kingdom would be short one annoying mage.
Fortunately, Finks’s mouth closed over his long teeth and didn’t open again until they stopped at a nearby field. This field was just as large and empty as the others. Two giants worked the soil alone, one guiding the plow while the other pulled. The blade must’ve been heavier than Kael realized: the giant in charge of pulling was bent nearly double. He dropped to all fours in places where the earth deepened, using the strength of his bulging arms to drag the plow forward.
Finks slung his whip and both of the giants’ heads jerked to the side. They stopped their work and glared at him. Fresh red welts rose up across their brows.
“What is it, master?” the giant behind the plow said. He had a shock of white hair and limbs that were a little ganglier than the average giant’s. Even though his mouth was serious, his eyes glinted like a man up to no good — which gave his words a mocking edge.
“I’ve found you a third,” Finks said, shoving Kael forward with a thrust of his boot.
“That little thing? He’ll be more a burden than a help.”
“Don’t try to make excuses, you lazy oaf!” Finks snapped his whip, and both giants winced as the spell struck them. “I still expect these fields to be plowed by sundown. And if they aren’t, I’ll bleed you. Understood, beasts?” He turned and marched away, his horse’s tail flicking sharply across his back as he went.
For a long, icy moment, the giants stared at Kael. The one behind the plow leaned against it, his eyes glinting like a crow’s. The second giant never moved. His eyes were set back so deeply that the ridge of his brow cast a shadow over them, masking the top half of his face.