"How old is he?" Ilien pressed.
"Eighty-two," the Giant replied.
Ilien lurched in his invisible saddle. "Eighty-two?"
Anselm jogged along without missing a step. "Yup. Eighty-two and currently King of the Giants."
"But how is that possible?"
"I know," Anselm said, shaking his head. "Eighty-two is a bit young for a king but he was next in line when I fled."
"No. Not that. I mean eighty-two, that would make you at least . . ." Ilien calculated in his head for a moment. "At least a hundred!"
"A hundred! I've always been told I look good for my age, but a hundred? I'm flattered." Anselm watched Ilien out of the corner of his eye. Finally, he broke into laughter. "Giant's don't age the same as humans, Ilien. We move a little slower. Mature a bit more carefully."
Ilien frowned. "I suppose you're going to say 'like fine wine'."
"You could say that." Anselm smiled and puffed out his chest as he ran.
"So just how old are you?"
"Two hundred and fifteen."
"That's some old wine."
Anselm's look turned sour.
"And your son?" asked Ilien. "Does he still follow Reknamarken?"
The Giant stared off at Greattower and wiped the sweat from his forehead again. "For now," he said. "For now."
Anselm remained silent in thought, and Ilien knew that the conversation was ended. He had plenty to contemplate himself, but every time he thought of what they were doing his mind froze in terror. He busied himself with a small piece of Awefull instead. The putrid taste kept his thoughts in the present, and deep down he knew that it might be his last meal for a while.
They traveled without break for nearly an hour more, the setting sun casting their shadows long and thin behind them. They struggled on through the dying light until darkness pushed the glowing sun beneath the horizon. Ilien led the way on Runner while the others filed out behind him. They stopped at the crest of a small rise, and the land curved and fell away before them, a gigantic bowl with Greattower rising up from its center, cold and glistening in the starlight. Lights twinkled around it, the distant fires of the Giant's army.
"Not far now," Thessien said, and they made their way wearily into the valley.
It wasn't long before they stopped and dismounted only a few hundred yards from the first of the Giant's many bonfires. Thessien and his men laid their horses down in the grass again. Ilien simply whispered, "Stay close, Runner. I have a bad feeling about all this."
Thessien motioned for his men to set up watches in four different directions then turned to Ilien. "Okay. It's time." He looked suddenly around. "Anselm? Where's Anselm?"
Anselm appeared through the gloom, fiddling with the buttons on his pants. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Like my mum used to say, go now or forever hold your pee."
Thessien shook his head. "Just get over there by Ilien!" He cast a cold glance at Giant and boy standing side by side. "Good. Now up you go, Ilien."
Anselm held out his hand and Ilien looked at it disdainfully.
"What?" Anselm asked.
Ilien raised an eyebrow and began the climb up the Giant's body without assistance.
Anselm looked at his hand, then back at Ilien again. "What? What's the matter?"
Thessien gave a quiet whistle, and four quiet whistles from his men called back through the gloom. "Good. All is set," he said. He turned to Anselm. "You know what to do. Just remember to stay calm, and follow the plan. Don't panic if things go wrong. Act natural." He studied the Giant for a moment as Ilien writhed about beneath Anselm's animal skin shirt. "Oh, and Anselm?"
"I know," the Giant said, turning to go. "We'll meet you back at Berkhelven."
"No. Not that," Thessien said as Ilien still struggled to get settled. "Try to keep to the shadows."
Ilien coaxed Globe to life beneath Anselm's animal skins with a whisper. The magical light flared brightly then settled to a dim burn, the faint illumination turning the interior of the Giant's shirt into a small, dingy cave. "You know what to do," Ilien said to Globe. "Don't screw this up. Wait for my command." Globe's pale light revealed a small hole in Anselm's shirt and Ilien poked his finger into it. "Isn't this a stroke of luck," he said, removing his finger and peeking through the hole. Though Anselm would scarcely have noticed it, the small rent in his shirt was just big enough for Ilien to see through.
As Anselm padded off toward the Giants' encampment, he looked like a goose fattened for the feast. He avoided the first bonfire he came to where a few lonely Giants reclined in the grass cooking some sort of meat on sticks. The smell of real food made Ilien's stomach rumble beneath Anselm's shirt. He wasn't really hungry with all the Awefull he had eaten, but Awefull was anything but appetizing, and the thick, sweet smell of roasting meat was almost more than he could bear.
They passed through the shadows unnoticed, heading for the center of the camp. At first they found it easy to make their way all but ignored, just another solitary soldier wandering about. But the further they went the more bonfires they passed and soon there was hardly a shadow to cling to. It wasn't long before those around the fires began looking up to see who was so eager to make his way past and Ilien realized then that Anselm wasn't so much walking as running. He poked him in the stomach and the Giant slowed, continuing on at a more leisurely pace.
Beneath the shirt things were beginning to get hairy as well. Anselm's nervousness was taking its toll on Ilien. The Giant was sweating profusely.
"Hey! Hey you there!" called a rather short Giant, as Giants go, from around one of the bonfires they passed. "Yes, you. Come over here."
Through his peephole, Ilien could vaguely discern two other Giants sitting on the sawn off stumps of trees. A third emerged from the shadows rolling another log toward the fire.
The short Giant pointed a blunt finger at Anselm. "You, soldier! I said get over here right now!"
Anselm hesitated and Ilien wondered what he was doing. "Don't stop now," he whispered. "Keep going! Keep going!" He was about to give Anselm an elbow to the ribs when he heard a shout.
"That's an order!"
Anselm jumped forward and Ilien lost his balance and fell back against the Giant's hairy chest. He scrambled to regain his footing, attempting to maneuver his way back to the peephole while trying to keep as still as possible at the same time.
"What's your name, soldier?" the Giant asked as Anselm approached.
Ilien reached the hole and looked out. The Giant stood before them, and his short, bandy legs nearly formed an O, he was so bowlegged.
"I said what is your name?"
"An—Andrew," Anselm replied, an octave higher than usual, stopping a few paces away.
"Andrew sir!" the bow-legged Giant shouted, thrusting out his barrel chest. "Don't you know how to address an officer?" Upon his dirty tunic he wore a tarnished pin, a lump of lead that Ilien assumed was some sort of medal of honor.
Anselm kept his head down. "I'm sorry sir," he said in his falsetto voice.
"Sorry?" the officer screamed, his own voice rising. "Why I ought to court-martial you right here and now! Get over here. I said come closer and let me get a look at you!" Anselm moved forward and Ilien held his breath. The officer studied Anselm closely, and Ilien was so certain he would be seen peering out the hole in Anselm's shirt that he closed his eyes tight.
"You sure are a big fellow," the officer remarked. "I guess you'll do. We need a fifth for cards. Now sit down."
Ilien let out a breath and looked back through his peephole. One of the other Giants had broken out a deck of cards. His fingernails glistened black and oily, and he smelled to Ilien like a ham gone bad, even from beneath Anselm's shirt.
"I don't know how those stupid humans play with these god-awful things," said the card-dealing Giant. "They're so darn small. Whose idea was it to steal ‘em, anyway?"
"Shut your trap, Willy, and get this soldier a stump," the officer commanded.
A stump was rolled out
and Anselm took his place around the fire, careful not to sit too near Willy.
"We're playing War," the officer declared. " Deal ‘em, Will."
As Will attempted to shuffle the cards, cursing under his breath, the Giant sitting opposite Anselm said, "Are you as excited as I am? I still can't believe it." His left eye protruded as he spoke, bulging forth with every word, and snot leaked from his nose, running down across his lips. Anselm looked away in disgust. Ilien winced but didn't dare move.
"I mean, how much easier could it be?" the Giant went on, spraying snot all around. "First we sack Kingsend Castle like there was nobody home, then the Book being unguarded and all. It was like stealing mutton from a twenty year old." The Giant sniffed the air and sucked a drooling green puddle back up his nose. "Speaking of mutton, when are the ceremonies gonna start? I'm starving."
Will threw cards at everyone until the deck was spent. Anselm's cards collected in a loose pile on his lap.
"You don't look so good," Will said, nodding at Anselm's distended stomach where Ilien's knees pushed out his shirt. "What'd you do, eat a goat, hooves and all?"
The others roared with laugher.
"Shut up!" barked the Giant in command. "This ain't no sorority. Play cards!"
In the moment that everyone gave heed to their cards, Anselm pushed Ilien's knees back down a bit too hard and Ilien grunted in pain. "Bad goat," Anselm said in response to everyone's stares, putting a hand on his stomach to hide Ilien's movements.
They soon settled down and played War, the object of the game being to throw out a card and hope it was the highest in the pile. The problem was no one could read the writing on the tiny cards.
"Hey!" Will yelled. "Kings beat queens! Give up the pile!"
"That's not a king, you idiot," the other replied, rising to his feet in a surge of anger. "That's a three! The pile's mine!"
As Ilien saw it, Anselm's ace beat them all but he hoped Anselm knew better than to point this out. It was best to keep quiet before war really did break out. As it was, the two opposing Giants had thrown their cards at each other's faces and were reaching for their logs.
"Knock it off! That's an order!" the officer shouted. The two warring Giants returned their stumps to the ground and their rumps to the stumps. "Pick up your cards. Save it for the real thing. There'll be plenty of skull bashing when those men bring their army down here, and believe me, they will. So save your strength and play."
The Giant sitting near Willy grinned a mouthful of crooked teeth. "I can't wait to see their faces when Reknamarken rises again. I bet you he's free already." A shiver of joy coursed through his massive body.
"For the love of Evil! Another idiot!" the officer exclaimed, this time throwing his own cards down. "Reknamarken won't be free until we bring the Book before the NiDemon! Now shut yer mouth and play!"
The other Giant shivered again, this time without the smile. "NiDemons give me the willies."
"Me too," Willy said, suddenly pulling a roasted ham leg from his pocket. He waved away a swarm of flies that came out with it.
The officer straightened the medal upon his shirt. "I don't like ‘em any better than you, but the NiDemon does have the Nomadin-child, and she does have the key. As unpleasant as a NiDemon can be, it can't be helped." He patted the medal twice before looking up with a leer. "Reknamarken will be free soon enough, boys."
Beneath Anselm's shirt Ilien couldn't believe his ears, and it wasn't because of the loudest growls he'd ever heard a stomach make. The Giants believed Windy was the prophesied child! Ilien was so surprised that without thinking he popped his head out from Anselm's collar.
A moment of silence fell around the campfire. Ilien's eyes were as wide as Anselm's. The eyes staring back at him were double-sized.
The blast of horns split the night and Ilien dove back beneath Anselm's shirt. What was going on? He hadn't given the signal. Globe was still there with him. The horns sounded again and a cry went up. "The ceremonies are starting! The ceremonies are starting!"
The Giants around the fire jumped to their feet, caught between the confusion of the moment and the excitement of the entire camp. When they looked back at Anselm, he was gone.
Anselm melted into the throbbing crowd, losing himself in the rush of massive bodies. He flowed along the river of Giants, careful to keep his head down. When he looked back, his pursuers were nowhere in sight.
"Nice going," he grunted to his shirt. He veered off into a shadowed area where no one would notice him, and poked his belly hard. "You could've gotten us killed!"
"Sorry," came the muffled answer, and Ilien's head slowly crept out. "It just happened, but didn't you hear them? They think Windy is me."
"I know. I know," Anselm said. "I never said my kind were very bright." A pig-nosed Giant ran past, squealing with joy. "Or good looking." He pushed Ilien's head back beneath his shirt. "Now get back down. We have to locate the Book."
Ilien's head sprang out again. "We're surrounded by a stampeding herd of Giants. How do you suppose we do that now?"
"We follow the herd to the ceremonies. The Book is the guest of honor." Ilien cried out his protest as Anselm stuffed him back down to the smelly dungeons below his collar. "Just keep your head down this time and wait for my signal." He took off running and Ilien tucked himself into a ball, trying to ignore the growing pool of sweat beneath him.
Anselm stayed alert as he jogged along amidst the throng of other Giants. His card-playing buddies could show up at any moment and finger him as a traitor—again! It wasn't that he minded being a traitor, but he had a sinking feeling he wouldn't escape so easily this time around. Fortunately, no one took notice of him in all the excitement.
Within moments the crowd thickened to a land-locked sea of sweaty, jostling Giants. Anselm shouldered his way forward as gently as anyone can shoulder their way forward, keeping an eye out for any sign of those who might recognize him. A cry arose up ahead and surged among the bystanders and Anselm ducked down, but his fears were soon allayed. In the light of the many fires, an unusually large Giant, even as Giants go, stood above the crowd on a tall, sawn off stump. The other Giants danced around and cheered as the monstrous Giant held up a hand to calm the crowd. He held his other hand behind his back.
"I'm going in to get a closer look!" Anselm shouted.
Beneath the thick animal skins of Anselm's shirt, Ilien had no idea what was happening outside. The roar of the crowd was deafening, even from under an inch of cow hide, and as he listened and waited anxiously for a sign from Anselm, he swore he heard the Giant yell, "Ilien! It's the Book!"
Chapter XXI
Alone in the Night
Caught! Ilien still couldn't believe it, though a quick check of reality left no doubt. His hands were bound behind his back with thick rope, his legs were tied tight as fence posts, and a dirty rag plugged his mouth. The musty smell of Giant permeated the air of his prison—a large tent with a damp, sandy floor.
The Giants had left nothing to chance, or almost nothing. They had found his pencil while searching him, but having no idea of its true nature had simply tossed it into the corner of the tent. The firelight from outside filtered through the thin cloth walls, illuminating the pencil's outline ten feet away. If only he could reach it. He wriggled three feet forward and stopped. His ropes were tied fast to a stake in the ground.
He cursed himself. How could he have been so stupid? The plan had been so simple. Everyone had followed it perfectly. Even Globe had dutifully done its job. Ilien moaned as he played it all back in his mind. He was the only one to make a mistake—and such an awful mistake. He could have sworn he heard Anselm give the signal.
Now all was lost. The Giants were interrogating Anselm at that very moment in the tent next to his. He could hear their shouts through the darkness, and the low moans of pain from Anselm that followed. Ilien shuttered with each blow the Giant received. How much more could Anselm take? Tears sprang to his eyes as he realized with sudden, painful clarity that
it was all his fault.
He suddenly wondered if Thessien and his men had been captured too. He'd heard the blast from the Horn of Plenty seconds after he'd sent Globe shooting into the air to the astonishment of everyone around him, but when the Giants saw Globe fly out from Anselm's collar they seized him at once. They must have guessed the horn call was a trick because they simply gathered around and waited. When an attacking army failed to show up, they quickly sent a dozen of their kind to search the surrounding fields. As far as Ilien knew, no one had come back with a catch. It was possible that Thessien and his men were safe. A glimmer of hope remained at least.
And to think that the Book had been nowhere in sight.
"Psst. Over here," his pencil whispered from the corner of the tent. "I'm over here."
Ilien mumbled heatedly under his gag and tugged at his tether. What did that idiotic pencil want him to do, dematerialize?
"You don't know how to dematerialize," the pencil said, matter-of-factly.
Ilien mumbled something unintelligible.
"Yes. I can read your thoughts. I've always been able to read your thoughts, though not all of them have been a pleasure to read, so quit your grumbling and get over here. I've about had enough of your insults."
Ilien mumbled again.
"You don't have to talk," the pencil said. "Just think. I know you're not in practice but—"
I can't move! Ilien thought, loudly, if that was possible. I'm tied tight!
"If only I could roll toward you." The pencil rocked back and forth, caught in a divot in the sandy floor. "Oh, for the want of legs! If only you could reach me I might be able to get us out of this mess."
But I can't! I can't move! Ilien screamed in his head.
"Alright! Alright! You don't have to get snippy about it."
What did you say? thought Ilien.
"I said you're yelling at me," the pencil answered.
Not that, Ilien thought in frustration. How would you get us out of this mess? You're only a wand. You can't cast spells.
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