The Giant Among Us

by Troy Denning

  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 fa
ther 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.

  “As you can imagine, the journey from Gilthwit is a long and difficult one,” Arlien began. He looked through the embrasure, to where the purple light of dusk was creeping across the craggy hills north of Cuthbert Castle. “I had to cross endless miles of frozen wastes, as forlorn and dangerous as the highest peaks among the Ice Spire Mountains. The plains were bitter cold, and full of dragons and giants—and many beasts even more ferocious and terrible.”

  “I know what the Icy Plains are like,” Brianna interrupted.

  “And so does my father,” Arlien continued. “Yet, when news reached us that you had ascended Hartsvale’s throne, he still asked me to make the perilous journey to your kingdom.”

  “Why?” Brianna demanded.

  “For a thousand years, the giant tribes have let Hartsvale live in peace, but that has changed with your father’s abdication—as you can see by the great number of marauders converging on this fief alone,” the prince said. “Gilthwit, on the other hand, has always endured the enmity of the giants.”

  “And you have come to share your wisdom with Hartsvale.”

  “Both our kingdoms would benefit by an alliance,” Arlien replied. “Gilthwit is a rich land that has endured in isolation too long. A trade route between our two countries, patrolled jointly by our armies, would greatly strengthen both kingdoms. Gilthwit would have a market for its jewels and rare metals, while the trade tariffs would swell Hartsvale’s treasury. You would have the gold necessary to bolster your defenses against the giants, and a ready ally to fight at your side.”

  “What you propose has merit.” Brianna’s voice softened, and she laid a hand on the sill of the embrasure. “But if Gilthwit really exists, how come you’re the first person I’ve met from there?”

  “Because my people rarely leave Gilthwit,” Arlien explained. “The kingdom is surrounded on all sides by frozen wastes as vast as they are deadly. I required a caravan of three hundred men and twice that many yaks to make the journey, and we lost two-thirds of our number even before the frost giants attacked us. Such treks are not undertaken lightly.”

  “And you want to open a trade route across such dangerous terrain?” Tavis scoffed.

  “The route will never be a safe one,” the prince admitted, continuing to look at Brianna. “But together, our two kingdoms can make it passable—and the rewards will repay our efforts tenfold.”

  “If the rewards are so great, why haven’t you sent an envoy sooner?” Brianna asked.

  The prince gave her a condescending smile. “At least we sent one, dear queen,” he said. “I don’t recall receiving any of Hartsvale’s princes in my father’s palace.”

  “Perhaps you will forgive us if you remember that we’ve always regarded Gilthwit as a legend,” Brianna said.

  “I must admit that Hartsvale seemed quite mythical to me, at least until I arrived in High Meadow,” Arlien allowed. “Yet here we stand, two legends speaking to one another.”

  A neutral smile crossed Brianna’s lips. “So we are,” she said. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

  The prince inclined his head. “So I haven’t,” he said. “As I said earlier, Gilthwit has always been an enemy to giants. I doubt very much that King Camden, or any of your ancestors, would have traded peace with the giants for an alliance with us.”

  “And what makes you think I will?” Brianna demanded.

  “Because you are not at peace with the giants.”

  “Hartsvale has always had marauders,” the queen said. “The troubles in this fief don’t mean we’re at war.”

  “Come now, you don’t believe that, and neither do I,” the prince said. “You see, I know all about the circumstances surrounding your rise to power.”

  Brianna looked away, assuming a deliberately disinterested expression. “What circumstances would those be, Prince?”

  Arlien smirked. “For one thing, your father agreed to sacrifice you to the giants’ guardian idol—I believe they call him the Twilight Spirit—in exchange for supporting his throne. You forced him to abdicate by exposing the plot to his earls.”

  Tavis had to bite back an exclamation of surprise. Only a couple dozen earls should have known what the prince just stated. To ensure an orderly transition of power, Brianna had asked everyone present at her father’s abdication to remain silent about the fact that it had been forced.

  Showing no sign of surprise, Brianna calmly returned her gaze to the prince. “I’ve heard that rumor as well,” she said. “But it hardly seems prudent to propose an alliance on the basis of gossip.”

  Arlien sighed, then pointed to the golden arrow Tavis always carried in a special pocket of his quiver. “If what I say is wrong, why does your bodyguard carry that arrow?”

  “As a symbol of office, of course,” Brianna responded.

  “Really?” Arlien said. “I thought it was for you.”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption,” the queen allowed.

  “If it’s only an assumption, why is the shaft inscribed with magic to make your death painless and quick?” Arlien demanded.

  The runes in question were hidden deep inside the scout’s quiver, near the tip of the golden arrow, and only a handful of Brianna’s advisors knew about them. Fearing h
er subjects would regard the magic as rather cowardly, the queen had agreed to have the sigils inscribed only because Tavis swore his aim would not be true unless he knew her death would be painless.

  Tavis scowled and stepped even closer to the prince. “How do you know about the runes?” The scout’s hand dropped to his sword as he made the demand. “You must have a spy in Castle Hartwick!”

  When Arlien showed no interest in replying to the scout’s accusation, Brianna came to Tavis’s side and gently pulled the firbolg’s hand away from his sword.

  “Of course Gilthwit has a spy in my court,” she said. All traces of her earlier suspicion had vanished from the queen’s voice. “We shouldn’t expect the king to send us one of his sons without knowing the situation in Hartsvale, should we?”

  “It seemed only prudent,” Arlien acknowledged. “Of course, such measures will no longer be necessary when we are allies.”

  In a carefully neutral voice, Brianna asked, “And this alliance is to be sealed by our marriage?”

  The prince nodded.

  “That seems drastic,” Tavis commented. Brianna shot him a reproving look, but the scout could not restrain himself. “Why not a treaty?”

  “Because blood is more binding than ink,” Arlien replied. “Once we open the trade route, our kingdoms will be under many great pressures. To stand together, we must be a family.”

  “I’m sure Arlien and his father have considered this matter very carefully, Tavis,” Brianna chided. She turned her gaze back to the prince. “I hope you’ll allow me time to do the same.”

  The scout bit his cheek, afraid he would blurt out another objection. He could not believe Brianna would actually consider marrying a man she had met only that morning.

  Arlien nodded. “Of course, Milady,” he replied. “And I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of accepting this, as a token of my sincere regrets for my unfortunate reaction this morning.”

  The prince opened the box he had been holding. Inside, resting on a bed of white velvet, lay a fabulous necklace of thumb-sized jewels. The gems were shaped like teardrops, and they scintillated with a pale blue light that seemed to arise from deep within their own hearts. They had settings of elegant simplicity, a bell of white gold encircled with a single scribe line, and they hung on a finely woven chain of red gold.