Against the Giants

by Ru Emerson - (ebook by Flandrel; Undead)

  Silence again, broken this time by someone inside giggling in a pain-thinned voice. The guard had begun to draw the door open, and Lhors could make out a bugbear’s shadow on the wall. The creature turned away to snarl something. Malowan nodded once sharply, then ran forward, half-turned, and slammed his foot into the heavy door. The splintered wood swung into the bugbear, sending him flailing for balance down a short passage. He caught himself on the thick bars of a cell, swung back and felt for his morning star. Too late. Malowan was on him, sword point under his hairy chin. The rangers stood between the guard and his weapon, and Khlened and Bleryn now held the north wall. The dwarf snapped something that sounded like an order, but Lhors couldn’t understand a word of it. It sounded more like the bugbear’s language, all spitting and snarling. Whatever he said, it took the fight out of the guard.

  “What’d you say?” Agya demanded.

  The dwarf shrugged and grinned broadly.

  “Told him that ol’ One Eye’s gone and ’is ape’s dead. Told him the wizard there”—he pointed at Nemis—“controls th’ other ape and he be its lunch.” The dwarf chuckled. “Not too happy ’bout being et, is he?”

  The bugbear was sliding slowly down the bars, huddling in on himself.

  Malowan sighed. “I cannot kill the brute like this!”

  “I can,” Bleryn said, all trace of humor gone. His eyes glinted, and he said something else in the other language.

  The bugbear whimpered and curled up like a bug.

  “No,” the paladin said firmly. “You and Khlened guard it. Do otherwise and you’ll answer to me.”

  “Lhors, Agya,” Vlandar added, “find fetters for him.”

  “Unnecessary,” Nemis said and spoke under his breath.

  The bugbear went limp.

  “He’s asleep, paladin,” said the mage. “Find your prisoners. I will keep watch to make sure we are not surprised.”

  Malowan found a bunch of keys hanging from the wall and opened the first cell. The mad giggle began again, weaker this time, though the door was now open.

  “Get me a light,” the paladin said. “I can see nothing.”

  Agya clambered onto the guard’s bench to pull a torch from its niche and held it up for him. Her eyes fixed on something inside and she gasped.

  Malowan took the torch from her and gave her a little shove. “Don’t look. Just go.”

  Lhors froze where he stood. He could clearly make out a wraith of a man who rocked back and forth on a filthy bench. Black, gaping holes gazed where his eyes had once been. One arm ended in a bloody stump, and both his feet were missing.

  Gods, how could anyone do that? Lhors thought. How can he still be alive? Lhors suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe, and he scarcely felt Vlandar’s hands on his shoulders, turning him away from the opening.

  Behind him, the laughter faded. He could hear pained, harsh breathing, then Malowan’s voice. The paladin sounded as if he were weeping. “I cannot heal you. If I could, I could not restore your wit or cleanse the horrors from your mind. I can only release you and let Holy Rao restore your spirit to grace and peace.”

  There was the faint sound of metal against metal. Malowan had drawn a blade.

  “You will feel no pain,” the paladin rasped. “I swear it.”

  The paladin drew a shuddering breath, and Lhors turned back just as Malowan plunged his dagger into one of the wretch’s empty eye sockets.

  Lhors swallowed past a tight throat.

  Malowan turned away, knife hanging loose, tears spilling over his eyes. The paladin fought for control, then drew a deep breath and turned back, blotting his eyes. “Dread Heironeous,” he said huskily, “see into my heart and show me the way to cleanse this blood from my hands, for you know me, and you know that I acted out of pity and gave him what mercy I could.” He turned then and left the cell, gently closing the door behind him.

  Agya was very pale. She took the dagger from his fingers and shoved it back into its sheath. Malowan gave her a watery smile.

  The rangers were already at the next cell and had it open. A tall man emerged, and Lhors blinked. He had very dark, bronzed skin, and hair as black as coal. He smiled, revealing very white teeth. “Dare a man hope this is a rescue? Not much I wouldn’t do for that.” He looked around at the company. “Must be a tale here, so many warriors in old Nosnra’s cellars.”

  “There is,” Vlandar said, “and if we get back out of Nosnra’s cellars, you’ll hear it. I’m Vlandar out of western Keoland.”

  “I am Gerikh,” the man said with a slight bow, “from Istivin on the Davish River, and unfortunately, no swordsman.”

  “We won’t leave you here,” Vlandar assured him.

  “Good. I’ve been here with two others since maybe a moon-phase ago. We were working on a bridge near Flen. I’m an engineer. Giants set upon our party. By the time we got here, I was the only one alive.”

  Malowan was already at the next cell, hands resting on the lock. “I’ve found your elf,” he announced.

  Rowan bounded over, peeked in the cell, and immediately set to work on the lock with her dagger. After several moments of mumbled cursing, she drew back in frustration. “Damn all dwarven steel! Bleryn, can you get this lock open?”

  Taking Khlened’s thick sword, the dwarf walked over to the cell, and with one sharp crack from the sword’s pommel, the lock fell to the floor.

  “Trouble’s with yer method,” the dwarf said with a crooked smile, “not our ‘damned dwarven steel’.”

  Maera went in as her sister got the door open. Rowan set her jaw, then followed.

  The paladin and the rangers were back out moments later, a tall, slender fellow held up between them. A grayish rag encrusted with old blood hid one eye, but Maera tugged it loose, and Lhors saw with relief that it had covered a nasty scrape. He’d imagined much worse.

  The rangers got the fellow over to the guard’s bench and let him down. Rowan shoved his long, filthy hair back He seemed only half-conscious. She tugged at one of his pointed ears and quietly said, “We have come to rescue you.”

  No response. She said something in another language. His eyes opened warily, and he looked at her and then at Maera for some moments, then replied in what might have been the same language.

  “He’s Florimund, a half-elf” Maera said as Rowan continued talking to him. “He remembers very little. Woods and giants, and then pain. Rowan, we need to get him out of here.”

  “I agree,” Rowan replied. She and Maera got Florimund to his feet and brought him up by the door where Nemis was keeping watch.

  Malowan came away from the last cell, its door unopened. “It’s a trap. Leave it be.” Then he too left the room.

  “We have what we came for,” Vlandar said. “Let us go before the guard changes. This is no place for us.”

  The paladin drew his sword. “Nemis, same sleep spell on this guard?”

  “He won’t waken on his own,” the mage said.

  “Good. We’ll shove him in that cell and lock him in.” Malowan waited while Khlened and Bleryn moved the unconscious guard, then turned the key in the door and tossed the ring in the other cell.

  “Mal, you stay back with Agya,” Vlandar said. “Bleryn, stay with me. Which way?”

  Bleryn pointed back in the general direction of the fallen staircase. “The treasure room’s through there.”

  “Small room off by itself?” the engineer asked. “I know it. They had me working on the locks not long ago. Couple of the guards were talking about the things supposed to be inside.”

  “Let’s get there first,” said Vlandar.

  Nemis gestured that the main chamber was clear. Some moments later, Lhors found himself back in the small chamber where they’d slept earlier. The torches were guttering. Once Khlened and Bleryn lowered the door, it felt almost safe here, but he could still hear the distant thud of workers above them.

  “We can’t stay long,” Vlandar said. “Bleryn or Gerikh, do you know of any guards nearb
y?”

  “At least one guard, a giant,” the engineer said, “assigned to guard the treasure room. But I overheard the prison guards saying that Nosnra had caught him pilfering and had him torn apart. I don’t know if he’s been replaced.”

  “Heard about ’im,” Bleryn said. “Figured between that and all the guards on us when we repaired the traps, there must be wealth in there.”

  “It isn’t so much wealth, I heard,” Gerikh said. “That chief of theirs comes down now and again, and he comes back with a scroll—orders, one of ’em said his captain told him. And sometimes he comes down here after those orders come, and he goes in—but he isn’t in there. Way their captain got it from his boss, the chief has some magic thing that takes him to other giants, and he has to go when they say.”

  “We’ll go now,” Vlandar said.

  Maera, who was blotting Florimund’s face with a wet cloth, looked up, her mouth set.

  Vlandar saw her look and said, “Tell our companion we will tend his wounds properly once we’re free of this place.”

  Rowan whispered something to her sister. Maera nodded, but she still looked angry.

  Agya had the panel moved away from another wheel that, when turned, revealed a chamber nearly the size of the main one, but more dimly lit. Vlandar put Bleryn and Gerikh with him to help guide the way. The rest came close behind, Nemis last.

  A wild howling and shrieking suddenly shattered the silence. Agya jumped closer to Malowan, and Lhors tightened his grip on his boar spear. Everyone turned frantically, but they could see nothing in the dim light.

  Silence once again.

  Lhors could just hear Bleryn whisper. “Manticores. They’re penned.” They moved out, hugging the wall, and stopped short of the entry to a passage heading east. In the silence, they could hear giants’ voices, but they sounded distant.

  The dwarf pointed. “Stairs back that way down a side passage. Chief comes that way, I think.”

  Malowan asked softly. “Nemis, what are they saying?”

  The mage leaned against the wall. “Nosnra is there, and someone else wants to put down another ladder. Nosnra says no, his sub-chief has already been killed in the stair’s collapse, and they will break through to the rubble on the other stairs by middle night. The other argues that is too long.” He listened a few moments more. “They don’t know where we are, and it seems our assumption was correct. Some orc workers revolted and have killed two giants.”

  “Where are the orcs now?” Khlened asked. “Are they still roamin’ down ’ere?”

  “They did not say,” the mage replied, “though I would surmise that the orcs have been dealt with, since Nosnra’s main concern seems to be with us.”

  Vlandar said, “We need light. I cannot see a thing down there!”

  Nemis fished a small object from his belt and threw it down the passage. A bail of light rose from the floor partway down the short passage, illuminating walls of finely dressed stone. A dark opening yawned to their right. Lhors thought the distant voices were that way.

  “Straight,” Bleryn said. “Main trap’s just beyond the door. I can point it out.”

  “We can manage a trap,” Nemis said mildly.

  Once Gerikh located the lever to shift the door, it required him, Khlened, and Vlandar to move it. Lhors tried not to listen to the angry voices echoing from above. Gerikh went through first, closely followed by Khlened and Bleryn. Agya jumped as something heavy and metal squawked in protest at being moved. Something else rumbled briefly, then all was silent.

  “It’s fine,” Malowan assured her quietly. “Nemis has the sound blocked for us again. Let’s go.”

  He put his ward and Lhors ahead of him. Nemis came last, the ball of light following him like a pet firefly. Once the chamber was sealed, Vlandar beckoned everyone close. “Mal, you and Nemis will know what we want from here. Find it quickly. We haven’t much time. The rest of you look around. Khlened, remember there are things we need more than gold. Lhors, help Rowan. Look for scrolls, written messages, maps. None of us except Mal and Nemis are to open anything—there will likely be traps.”

  Lhors eyed the jumble resignedly. He could see one large chest, a metal box close by, some smaller chests, and a pile of wooden rubble against the opposite wall. Another wall ,vas thick with a dampish looking yellow growth that smelled like moldy bread.

  Maera had braced Florimund in a corner. She, Rowan, and Lhors waited until Nemis used a reveal spell on the chests and boxes. Agya came behind him with her lock picks, but Bleryn had already broken the lock on the iron box with his knife. There were coins—more than Lhors could ever have imagined in one place. The thief gasped, then grinned broadly and plunged both hands into the pile.

  “Treasure,” Rowan said. “Remember you may have to carry whatever you take here for some time.”

  “Thought we were going back to th’ river,” Agya said as she looked up from the chest.

  “That depends on what we find here to get us out of here,” Malowan said. He’d come quietly up behind her. “Take a purse’s worth of coin. You’ve have earned it.” He turned to one of the rangers. “Rowan, look there.”

  Lhors turned as he heard the ranger gasp. He was almost afraid to look. The smelly yellow stuff had vanished, revealing swords, spears and other weapons. Rowan crossed the chamber and took down a quiver of long arrows. She drew one. The fletching-feathers shimmered.

  “These will do nicely,” she said admiringly. “Besides, I have only two of my own arrows left.”

  “Magic arrows?” Lhors asked as the ranger fastened the quiver to her shoulder.

  “They are from the Valley of the Mage,” Maera said as she came up. “Is this safe, Rowan?”

  “They are not evil, as some tales say,” Rowan replied. “Touch that spear, and tell me what you feel.”

  Maera eyed her mistrustfully but laid a hand on the shaft. She smiled then, took the weapon down and ran loving hands over the shaft.

  “They were made for good and will serve you well,” Malowan said as he came over. He turned back just as Agya reached for one of the swords. “Do not—”

  But he was too late. The girl wrapped her hand around a hilt then cried out in pain. Malowan pulled her away from it and cupped the hand gently. Blisters covered her palm and ran up her thumb and fingers. “Easy, child.” He murmured under his breath and ran gentle fingers across the back of her hand and, when it relaxed, across her palm and fingers. Agya eyed it fearfully, then in wide-eyed astonishment. There was no sign of injury.

  “Touch nothing else unless I tell you it is safe,” the paladin warned her, then took both swords down. Agya stared up at him, and he smiled. “For me, these are safe. I will take one. Nemis?”

  “I am not pure enough to wield the thing,” the mage said from across the chamber, “even if I could use one—or needed it. Mal, come here. You brought that red powder, didn’t you?”

  The paladin settled one sword against his back, reluctantly put the other back on the wall, and fished a tiny box from a pouch at his belt. He handed it to the mage, who sprinkled some of it over the shattered wood that might have been a barrel at one time. There was a faint explosion and a bloom of ruddy smoke that cleared to reveal a solidly built cask. Another pinch of the red powder, and this too burst open.

  Agya came around Malowan to peer at the contents with them. “Just a map!” she said dismissively.

  Nemis had the thing spread across his knees. Lhors could not make out any of the writing on the hardened sheet of skin, but Nemis and Malowan seemed to be making sense of it.

  The mage held up a black oblong box. “This was under the map Vlandar, and the map is a plan of the frost giants’ hold—Nosnra’s guide, from what is written here. And here”—he pointed—“are instructions for the device that takes him to the Rift.”

  “Rift?” Agya asked warily. “Frost giants?”

  “The Rift is a place of ice and cold, such as frost giants like” the paladin explained. “I doubt we will care f
or it, but Nemis”—the paladin glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice—“will the drow be there?”

  “I doubt it,” Nemis said quietly. “Those I knew prefer heat to cold, and they would not trust Nosnra with anything that took him straight to them. They may travel to the Rift to meet with him, or he may go beyond the Rift.”

  “We’ll learn when we get there,” Malowan said as he opened the oblong box.

  Lhors hoped the man felt as confident as he sounded. Lhors merely felt ready to be done with fighting and headed back home.

  But you have no home anymore, the back of his mind whispered. Lhors pushed the thought away. It was true enough, but that was a matter to deal with once he was far away from giants and bugbears and orcs.

  The box held a chain, a hide scroll, and another black chain that reflected the dim light. Nemis took the black chain. “Don’t touch it, Mal,” he warned as he unfurled it. “You won’t like it.” He looked down to read from the scroll again. “Instructions for the chain, from ‘the Jarl, Chief of the Rift.’ He addresses Nosnra as if the brute were his slave.” He glanced up. “Mal, you’re monitoring them up there?”

  “As best I can,” the paladin said. “There are no giants in the passage out there, no one nearby except those manticores.”

  “That won’t last much longer,” Vlandar said. “I fear our time is almost gone. Tell me how this chain works.”

  Nemis read down the scroll, set it aside to scrub his hands vigorously on his pants, then spread the chain out across the floor. It was longer than it had looked in the chest.

  “I won’t loop it properly until we are ready,” the mage said.

  Vlandar got everyone together. “We’re leaving here soon, by the magic in that chain. We have no choice at this point. It is this or fight our way out against impossible odds. It will be very cold where we’re going, so whatever warm things you have in your packs, put them on now. And be ready to fight. There may well be guards where we emerge, frost giants. Khlened, you said you’ve fought them before.”