Vlandar gripped Lhors’ shoulder and murmured, “They know me, and I’ll vouch for you.” He spoke to the guards, and one of them nodded. They both stepped back and held the doors open.
The room itself was much smaller than Lhors would have imagined from the size of the doors. The ceiling was barely higher than the lintel, and a long table surrounded by a dozen high-backed chairs took up most of the chamber. Thick curtains in a muted green covered one wall. The opposite wall was almost completely taken up by an immense fireplace. High, small windows along the back wall let in light, but the room was still dim, warm, and almost stuffy.
Vlandar tugged at Lhors’ hair and leaned close to murmur against his ear, “This is the lord’s private audience chamber. Let me go first. When I beckon, you come forward, kneel, and bend your head. Do not rise or look up until the lord or I tell you to do so. Can you remember that?”
Lhors nodded again.
“You will speak when he tells you and answer his questions as briefly as you can. Good manners say you must address him as ‘my lord’ each time you speak.” He smiled as Lhors swallowed hard. “Buck up, lad. It’s not so awful as that. He’s a busy man but not an unfair one. You’ll do.” He clapped the youth on the shoulder and went forward, easing to one knee as he came around the near end of the table.
Vlandar spoke to the men briefly, but Lhors was so caught up in studying those seated around the table that he didn’t hear a word. Now that his eyes were adjusting, he could make out a wizened little being of uncertain sex, his or her robe and close-fitting cap nearly the same shade as the dark wood of the chair. Opposite, a dark-skinned man in black suddenly leaned forward, drew an open scroll across the table and began rolling it up.
Vlandar stood and beckoned to Lhors. The youth drew a deep breath and walked over to join him.
It was easy to kneel. He wasn’t certain his legs would support him, and he was much too shy to look up. The third man—presumably Lord Mebree—spoke, his voice low and pleasantly resonant. “You are… Lhors, is it? From poor young Baron Hilgenbrand’s holdings, Vlandar says. He tells me you have a tale for me. Come, lad, let me look at you.”
Vlandar gripped Lhors’ shoulder reassuringly and aided him to his feet. Lhors nodded then managed a shaky, “Yes, my lord. From Upper Haven near the baron’s hunting lodge.” He glanced up. Cryllor’s lord was a small man, his hair a blue-black, wavy mass barely restrained by a narrow band of silver. His near-black eyes were warm though, and he was smiling. His hands moved constantly, fussing with papers or his dagger, moving them about the table.
To Lhors’ surprise, Mebree chuckled quietly. “Go ahead and look at me, lad. I like to see a man’s eyes when he talks. Tell me about these giants.”
Lhors glanced at Vlandar. He and the two other men—councilors, perhaps—were smiling. Probably at my foolishness, he thought. But the words were kind, and so were the lord’s eyes. He drew a deep breath and plunged into his story.
It had helped, rehearsing it so often. He was brief and to the point, and after so much repetition, it began to feel more like a tale he’d heard than something he’d seen or people he’d known. When he finished, Lord Mebree gestured, and Vlandar fetched two stools from beside the hearth. Lhors sat with relief. He suddenly felt exhausted and light-headed. He scarcely paid attention as Lord Mebree dismissed the other two and turned to Vlandar.
“Well, my friend,” he said mildly. “This is your warning come to pass, isn’t it? Feel vindicated, do you?”
“No,” the older man replied. “Simply angry at so many senseless deaths. If we’d gone after the Steading in force when I first heard rumors about the giants—”
“If,” the lord broke in wearily. His hands seemed to have a life of their own, running up and down the silver chain he wore, folding it into one hand, shaking it loose again. “I am sorry for this young man’s people, Vlandar, but even you couldn’t have foreseen an attack like that. It’s simply never happened before. And you know the cost of sending an army out. I could never have justified it to King Kimbertos.” He dropped the chain and folded his hands. “However, this is no longer rumor, and with the king here to see how things are in the Good Hills… Well, it may be time to do something about the Steading after all, though I still cannot be certain the Steading is responsible. It’s unheard of for hill giants to do such a thing. Thus far, they’ve stolen a few cattle or some of their youth get drunk and raid a town. Their chief, Nosnra, isn’t a warrior. He’s a thug—a clever one I’m told, but still a thug.”
“I agree,” Vlandar said. “But the king will have little money or many men to spare if he agrees to an attack—even if the Yeomanry allows one to cross their lands. The king’s more concerned about the Scarlet Brotherhood, or so I hear. He’ll keep his best fighting men ready to defend against attack from across the Azure Sea.”
“I will speak with him when we meet after the feast tonight, but I agree we aren’t likely to get much armed help.” Mebree’s fingers drummed against the padded chair arms.
The king? King Kimbertos was actually here in Cryllor? Lhors had never actually seen a king. Before his mind could wander any further, he focused on the conversation at hand.
Vlandar got to his feet and began to pace. “A direct attack is out in any event. Cryllor wouldn’t dare funnel all its armed men into the mountains, leaving the city unprotected. And the Steading’s built to withstand any attack. On the other hand, we don’t need an army to discover if the hill clans are responsible for Upper Haven. Now a small but well-picked band of fighters would be able to get inside the Steading, find out what we need to know, and strike a counter-blow from inside the walls.”
“But Vlandar, how do you plan on finding out… ?” He let the thought hang.
“Nosnra isn’t that smart. He’s clever and cunning, but not intelligent. He would need written orders or advisers from whoever is behind the attacks. Maybe we wouldn’t learn why, but we’d know who.” Vlandar resumed pacing. “Remember, my lord, that I’m trained for that kind of fighting. I’m skilled at sneaking in somewhere, learning things, inflicting damage, and getting back out again. With the right sized band—fewer than ten, I think—it could be done.” He paused. Mebree gestured for him to go on. “We’d need a few good fighters, a magician or two. If it turns out the Steading’s alone in this, then maybe we can hurt old Nosnra and his folk so they’ll leave us alone. We’d need good support, of course. Food, horses or boats to get us into the mountains, maps, the best armor and arms.”
Lord Mebree nodded slowly. “To get the people you want, you’d have to offer more than arms and supplies, Vlandar. I know what kind of fee your average adventurer wants—in advance, no less!” He grimaced. “If you can find them around Cryllor. We aren’t exactly the king’s city.”
“No, but with the king in Cryllor just now, there will be those who’ve come with him or in his retinue. Now, you’re right about fees, but the Steading is said to hold any number of hidden troves and treasuries. Let us keep whatever valuables we find—tax free, of course.”
The lord laughed. “Tax free, the man says! Of course, I must present this to our king! But it could work. Return tomorrow at this hour, Vlandar. I’ll tell you what the king makes of all this. If he agrees, I’ll see to it that my steward has funds for you to draw upon for whatever you need. And don’t thank me!” he added sharply. “You may have just bought yourself an ugly death, my friend. If you come through… well, I will find a way to show my gratitude.”
Vlandar stood and inclined his head. His lips twitched. “But one needs so little: ‘a small corner of the new barracks, a fire of my own, perhaps a new skin of wine.’”
Lord Mebree got to his feet and clapped the warrior on the back. “Quote my grandfer’s words at me, will you? Ha! Off with you, you old rogue. I will see you tomorrow.”
“My lord.” Vlandar leaned down to whisper against Lhors’ ear. “You also bow when you leave.”
Lhors blushed a deep red as he went to his knees.
Above him, the lord murmured a question, to which Vlandar replied, “I’ll take care of him, my lord. Come with me, Lhors.”
* * *
The corridors were even busier on their way out. To Lhors’ relief, two older men were on guard outside with no sign of the two who had given him such grief.
“Well,” Vlandar stopped just short of the gates and gave his companion a friendly smile, “you look like a boy who could use a good night’s sleep under a roof—and before that, a decent meal.”
Lhors slowed. “Um, I’ve a little coin, sir, but I have a long journey home yet.”
Vlandar was already shaking his head. “My treat. I trust your father told you to accept a free meal and cot any time they’re offered? Come on.”
Lhors smiled faintly and went with the warrior, who strode through a maze of narrow streets into a market area. The youth was lost within moments. The inn where they finally stopped was a pleasant little place behind a low hedge and a well-swept courtyard. The food itself smelled plain and familiar.
Lhors’ nose twitched, and his mouth began to water as Vlandar steered him to a bench in the corner where they could see the street. In the paddock across the street, two goats and a swaybacked horse jostled for place at a manger of hay and a pile of spotty cabbage leaves. He forgot about that as a gaunt young woman in shapeless brown roughspun came bustling over with two wooden bowls. A simple-looking hulk of a man came right behind her carrying a heavy black kettle. He held the steaming pot while she ladled soup to the very tops of the bowls. Lhors sipped the broth gingerly, then sighed happily, picked up the bowl, and drank down the contents.
“Your friend has good taste,” the girl said as she refilled the bowl. This time she added an extra scoop of vegetables and barley from the bottom.
Vlandar gave her a copper coin for more bread before dipping his crust in the broth. He ate absently as the boy finished what he had, then took down another bowl of broth and two manchets of black bread. Finally, Lhors shoved the bowl aside and sighed. “Thank you, Vlandar. I was hunting with Father for days before—before the giants came. I barely recall my last true meal. If there is any use I can be to you to pay back your kindness, sir…”
“I didn’t feed you simply for that,” Vlandar said, “but yes, I do need to know everything you can tell me about those giants. If I could question you… ?” He let that hang.
Lhors nodded sharply. His face was pale. He was about to begin when a shadow crossed the table. The youth edged back nervously as Vlandar leaped his feet, but he relaxed when the warrior began laughing. Vlandar clasped a pale-haired fellow by his chain-mail-clad biceps and shouted, “Malowan! When did you get into Cryllor? And what are you doing here, of all places?”
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 nex
t 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!”
Against the Giants Page 4