by J Battle
'A Giant who'll leave food and ale behind to serve his king is a rare Giant indeed. Kneel Giant, before your king.'
'What…?'
'Kneel before your king, and accept the honour of Knighthood.'
Aarvarn felt his knees give way. Whether it was the weight of the King's hand, or his words, or just the sight of the great sword that the King held in one hand, he could not have said.
'Arise Sir Aarvarn, Knight of the Realm, and bow to no-one but your king.'
With that, the King struck him a concussive blow across the forehead with the hilt of his sword.
Aarvarn's face split into the widest of grins as he got back to his feet.
'Did you hear that, Raarvan? I's a Knight now, and you'll have to show me more respect, you will. The king says so.'
'Ay, Sir Knight, mayhap you're right. My Sire, we's as tired as a Giant can be, 'cause we've walked for days, so I'd say, we don't want to slow you down none, so we'll rest our feet here a while, and follow on after you, as long as you leave us some food left when you get there. If you go along a ways there, and turn right when you get to yonder hill, then a day's walk will bring you to the town.'
The king smiled. 'You'd best not linger too long, 'cause no amount of food will last long when these Giants get a go at it.'
'Don't you worry none about us, Sire. We'll be along soon enough.'
The King led his percussion over the hill, with a great deal of noise and stamping about.
'Raarvan, don't ye think we should be going with them?'
'Why, Sir Knight?'
'Well, if we're not quick enough, they'll eat all the food.'
Raarvan shook his head. 'I knew you were going to say that.'
'How did you know what I was about to say?'
'Oh, that's easy enough there, Aarvarn. I just think of the stupidest thing in the whole world to say, and then you come along and say it.'
'That ain't no way to speak to a Knight, that ain't.'
'Oh, I begs your pardon and all, Sir Knight. Come on. The Lady-woman will have something special roasting away for us now, I reckon.'
Chapter 71 Gorge
He shivered as he walked, with his head bowed against the stiff wind. He had his old coat, and one of Sam’s big jumpers, and two of Tom’s scarves. With his thick boots and Dan the Man’s gloves, he should have been fine and dandy. But that wind off God’s Saddle, it was truly fierce, and it carried the taste of snow.
But he wasn’t daunted; not at all. He had the old Mage’s books in his bag, plus some chunks of rye bread and cheese, and a couple of apples that had seen better days. He wouldn’t need to carry drink, he’d decided, because he could always scrape off a little ice.
Gorge reckoned on a day and a half to get to his destination, if he didn’t allow himself to get lost, and there’d be no place to sleep on God’s Saddle, the great glacier that threatened to overwhelm the valley very soon, if nothing was done about it.
And he meant to do something.
At the mouth of the valley, he came upon the large boulder and the ringed pole mentioned in Anders’ notes. Anders had paced out the distance between the pole and the glacier to judge how close it was getting. Well, there wasn’t much need for pacing now, or room if you had the mind to pace. The boulder was half submerged already and the pole bent and broken, and how many days had it been since the stranger ran off with the Wellstone? Mayhap it was five or six days, he thought; certainly no more than seven.
With a grunt, he stepped onto the glacier, wishing he’d brought a stick along to give him support on the slippery ice. It wasn’t even dawn when he left the comfort of Dan the Man’s house, and now the sun was up as high as it planned to go, but it was a little less than generous with its heat, as far as Gorge could tell.
He walked for an hour or so, slipping and sliding as he went, but mostly going the direction he intended. Then he stopped for a break and sat on his bag and munched on a heel of bread and an apple. He closed his eyes for a moment to give them a rest from the constant glare of the ice, and he wished for the tenth time at least that he’d thought to wear a hat.
He took one of Tom’s scarves from his neck and wrapped it around his head, and that seemed to make a difference.
Then he was off once more, skidding along, but climbing all the time.
It was late afternoon when he stopped again, and he turned to look down on the valley that had been his home for the past year or so. It was still mostly green, he thought, as if it was determined to hold out against the ravages of the cold and wind until he returned with the means to make it all better. For that was his wish, to find a new Wellstone and make it his own, and what wonders would he perform when he returned once more to the valley?
**********
Richard gasped. He was there! Standing in shadows, hiding from the light. It had to be him, for who else could it be? So tall and angular, dressed in a rich white-fox fur cloak, just visible in the dim light of the cave entrance.
Richard watched him for a moment longer from behind the bar in the tavern he’d bought just to have this chance.
Then he dropped his cleaning cloth and turned. His sword was finally going to get a chance to taste Trytor blood once more, and then this would be over, and he could think once more of returning to Misthaven, to his dear daughter.
Before he left the bar, he looked back, and a groan escaped his clenched teeth.
He was gone.
Richard puffed up his cheeks and blew.
Should he follow him?
It was a question he’d asked himself so many times, and never had a good answer. To follow would be dangerous; he wouldn’t know what was coming at him, he wouldn’t be prepared.
With the other Trytors, they’d been out in the open and easy to see. He risked his life of course, you don’t kill a Trytor without that, but not blindly, not without being able set things in his favour.
It had been blind luck the first time, of course, when he slew Teldorn. But Ashlorn had been another kettle of silver fish entirely.
He’d used his wits and trickery, and the advice of an only slightly addled prince.
‘What disturbs you so, Richard, lad?’
For a moment, his eyes remained locked on the empty entrance, then he turned away.
‘Oh, nothing much, Agnis, nothing much at all.’
She was at a corner table, with her grey hair covered by a shawl and seemingly oblivious to what happened around her as she counted her coins.
‘Now Richard, I’ve known you some time now, and I seen you watching, when you thought no-one was looking, but I seen you. I seen you lots, so don’t try and fool your old friend.’
She placed three coins in a stack before her, and matched it with a column of six. Her eyes flitted back and forward between the two for a moment before she took a single coin from her hand and placed it on the taller pile.
‘So, tell me, while no-one else is here.’
‘Nothing to tell you, Agnis; nothing at all. Is that smaller pile for me?’
She shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘If you can call three coins a pile, then yes. It weren’t a good night last night, and that’s for sure. No-one was of a mind to have their fortunes read. Perhaps you’ll let me read yours, after so long saying nay?’
Richard looked down at his hands, reddened somewhat by the bar-work, but still neat and clean, with nails kept in good order as he would have done in his previous life.
‘No, Agnis,’ he said, slowly. ‘There’s nothing to read here, so I’ll just take what you can give me, and we’ll leave it at that.’
She sighed and shook her head, and then she slipped a coin from within her blouse and placed it on top of his coins.
‘I knew you were always interested in that fool Trytor, Richard, ‘cause you can hardly take your eyes off his place, but you never asked me about the time when I worked there.’
He moved nearer, his eyebrows raised.
‘I didn’t know you worked for him?’
> ‘Ay, I did; well not for him, for the others mostly. You didn’t see much of him about, ‘less the others were out and about on their business across the land. Then he’d strut about, giving orders here and there, like he was someone important, like. Until they came back and he was back up to his rooms.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Oh, I was still a young woman then, mayhap no more than 18 Falls of Leaves when I started. I wasn’t comely or to their tastes, so they left me mostly alone to cook and clean for them, though they were hardly interested in the place being clean.’
Richard glanced around the empty bar, and then he leaned forward.
‘So, you know your way around the Trytor’s home?’
‘Ay, I reckon I do. My body is frail, and there are lines where there used to be smooth skin, but my mind still holds true.’
She slipped her six coins into her purse and pushed his coins forward.
‘Tell me this then, Agnis, could you draw a map of the inside of that mountain? You could keep that coin if you did.’
Quicker than the eye could see, the coins were gone.
‘What would a poor barman want with a map of the Trytor’s palace?’
‘Oh, you know. Just for a moment’s diversion, if you like.’
Chapter 72 Jerrold
Jerrold couldn’t stay hidden any longer.
It was two days since the attack on the palace had begun, and he’d been stuck in a cupboard for most of that time. His bladder was full and his stomach was empty, and there was far too much duty rattling about in his head.
He opened the door just a crack and he listened, but there was nothing to hear. Slowly he opened the door and stifled a groan as he stretched his back and his legs.
He’d been standing in the gallery above the main hall watching the soldiers in their dress uniforms of the latest style, with purple jackets and dark green leggings and black gleaming boots, with gilded scabbards holding crystal ceremonial swords by their sides, and their long, oiled hair done up neatly in tight braids.
The ruffians that barged roaring through the doors were outnumbered three to one, but they had axes and clubs, and long heavy well-worn swords. Many of the soldiers were too stunned to even draw their swords, and those that did found them a little too frail and brittle to be of any use at all.
Jerrold had slipped away, commonsense and duty guiding him away from the fracas in search of his mistress, the fair Fleur. He must find her and see to her safety, for what would this band of marauders do to such a fair maiden?
He found her room empty, so he tried Lord Regent Meldon’s rooms, but they were locked.
Why is he not downstairs, using his Magic to deal with the invaders? He paused at the door, his mind racing. He hadn’t seen the regent for a couple of days or more, which was strange enough in itself. Now, with this door locked and still no sign of the regent, what was to be done?
He fumbled at his keyring, searching for the master-key. He would open the door and, if the regent was there, he would beg his pardon for disturbing him and tell him what was happening.
The door opened easily and swung away from him.
The smell was enough to give him pause. He placed a silk handkerchief over his mouth and nose and stepped forward.
There was the regent, sprawled across the floor, his blood staining the red tapestry a deeper red, and flies buzzing all over his body.
Jerrold stepped backwards and pulled the door closed behind him. As he relocked it, his mind was running about here and there, unable to fix on a single thought.
Then an image of Fleur appeared before him and he knew what he must do. If someone had killed the regent, then how much danger was Fleur in? And not from just the marauders below.
He rushed back to her room, hoping that he’d find her hiding beneath the bed. When his search was fruitless, he left and hovered outside the door, unsure of what to do next. She wasn’t downstairs, he knew that for a fact. If she wasn’t here either then she must be in the back part of the palace, rarely used due to its disrepair and drafty rooms.
He began to search the rooms in a desperate rush.
It was only by chance and good fortune that he happened to glance through a narrow window and see her crawling into the great mass of the tangleweed.
‘A good idea,’ he said, ’they’ll never think to look in there.’
He would have followed after her there and then, but a great ruckus of shouting and screaming was coming his way, and there was a narrow cupboard just behind him with just enough room for one as slender as him.
Now, two days later, it was time to empty his bladder, fill his belly and get to grips with that nagging sense of duty.
With the first dealt with, and little opportunity to deal with the second without risking the ornate stairs at the front of the palace, he made his way down the back stairs.
Out in the garden, he rushed across to the thick wall of tangleweed, with its heavy dark green vines and black as night thorns, sharp enough to pierce the sturdiest jacket.
He’d marked the place where he’d spotted her crawl through, by a split stalk.
He settled himself down on to his hands and knees without a thought as to what the wet grass would do to his white leggings.
‘My lady!’ he hissed, in a loud whisper. ‘It is I, Jerrold.’
There was no response, so he ducked his head and began to crawl forward. After a few feet, he called again, with the same result.
He continued for a few more feet and then he found her, in a little clearing.
She was sitting upright, with her legs splayed and a small chest in her lap. In her hands, she held a dull orange stone, and smoke seemed to be coming from her hands. Her head was thrown back, the cords in her neck standing out clearly and her mouth wide open in a silent scream.
Jerrold fell back onto his bottom and his hands went to his mouth. Her body was pierced in a hundred places by the tangleweed’s thorns. One had worked its way into her neck on one side and out the other. Others were wrapped around her arms and shoulders, hugging her in a gross embrace.
He would have moved then to see what he could do for her, but he felt a drip on the back of his neck. He looked up just in time for another to strike his eye.
He wiped his eye with his knuckle and held it up before him. It was covered in a red glistening liquid. He glanced up at the ceiling of thorns above his head. Each thorn had a jeweled bead of blood hanging there, and the ground was muddy with the drops that had gone before.
He sobbed as he turned and rushed from the bloody tangleweed.
Chapter 73 Rootheart
'How long will we have to wait, do you reckon? Or have we missed him already?'
Cavour looked at the half-giant, and he shook his head.
In truth, he was concerned himself. They'd been settled behind this scattering of rocks for three days now, and still BobbyJ hadn't shown his face.
It was a week since he'd made his escape with the Wellstone, and he should have been here by now. But, equally, it was hard to think that he could have reached this pass in less than four days, so they couldn't have missed him.
Unless he'd found another way. Cavour had crossed this land many times and he knew of only one way into the Trytor's land. If BobbyJ had found another way and had reached the Trytor already, then all of his plans were no more than dust in a north wind. He had to be the one to give the Stone to Lydorth, or else he'd lose the chance to have a say in the fate of his brother.
'We'll give him another day, I think,' he said, at last. 'If he doesn't turn up then, well, I don't know what to do.'
'If he’s been and gone already, can we not just follow him? Do you know who he is taking the Stone to?'
'No, he never told me the exact details. If we don't catch him here, then we're too late, and we'll have to say we failed.'
'But, if we could find him, before he's learned what he needs to know to use the Stone, then we can rip it out of his hands, we could.'
/> 'No, Rootheart; we find him here, or we don't find him at all. It's as straight as that.'
Rootheart settled himself down in the dirt behind a large boulder.
'What will you do with yourself then, when this is all done and dusted?'
Cavour stood straight; his eyes peering down into the valley to his left.
'I'll be off across the water, I should think. To Fairisle, to see if my search will prove more fruitful there.'
'You'll be getting on a boat then. I don't like boats; I don't rightly like water, but I don't like boats worse.'
'It's the only way to get there. It will be nice to be somewhere warmer than this place.'
Rootheart shivered.
'I don't much like the cold, neither. Giants don't like the cold, they don't.'
There was no response from Cavour.
He was still staring down into the lush green valley below.
Is that him? He thought, as he saw movement within the trees.
'I want you to stay hidden, to catch him by surprise. He won't want to give it up, and I don't want him to run, because we'll never catch him if he does.'
'Ay, I can be sneaky if I have to, 'cause I ain't built to run.'
Cavour stepped away from the rocks and settled down on a patch of grass a short way down the slope.
Without paying attention to the path below, he began to rummage in his bag.
Very soon he had a lit pipe in his mouth as he made himself relax.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement at the edge of the trees.
'Good day to you, BobbyJ,' he called, as he poked at the contents of his pipe's bowl with a short stick.
He looked up and saw his old companion no more than 20 yards from him, with his hands on his hips and his head somewhat cocked.
'Cavour. You been waiting long for me, my old friend?'
'Ay, and I reckon you were slower than I thought.'
BobbyJ began to walk up towards him, and he could see the changes in him. In such a short time, he was no longer the boy he'd been. He seemed taller, and his shoulders were broader, and rounded. As he walked, his hands swung well below his knees, and each one seemed like a bunch of too many fingers. And his limp had gone, as his good leg now matched his bad leg.