Against the Giants (33 page)

The rangers were nearly out of sight on both sides, Malowan
right behind Rowan and Vlandar on Maera’s heels. Lhors tried not to be ill as he
followed. His knees ached from the steep climb, but as he emerged onto the
level, things were mostly under control.

The guard did not seem very bright, and the space was too
small for him to maneuver well. He was struggling to reload his ballista when
Vlandar leaped on his back and pulled him off-balance. The giant threw him
aside, but Rowan was set. She launched an arrow that plunged deep into the
guard’s eye and into his brain.

Lhors stared across the cavern. The ledge was bigger over
there, he thought, but Malowan had drawn the flaming sword he’d taken from the
Steading’s treasury. Blinded, the guard stumbled away from him. Maera finished
him with one of her new spears, and the guard sagged out of sight.

Vlandar led them back down the stairs and into the hall,
sending Khlened and Bleryn ahead to make certain the dais guards hadn’t been
alerted of their companions’ demise. He then sent the rangers back to be certain
no one came out of the kitchens and caught them. The rest of the party, except
for Mal and Nemis, retreated against the east wall where an alcove under the
stairs put them out of the immediate line of sight.

Agya sniffled. Lhors glanced at her and was surprised to see
her eyes were wet as she gazed after the dead giantess.

“Don’t seem fair,” she whispered and met the youth’s gaze
defiantly. “Poor creature didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” Lhors replied quietly. “None of us did, nor would
we have wished such a fate on her.”

The young thief merely shook her head in disbelief and went
to join Malowan.

“You’ve a head on your shoulders, m’lad.”

Lhors jumped. To his embarrassment, Vlandar had come up
behind him and probably heard most of that.

“You’ll do,” the warrior added mildly. He glanced up as
Malowan came back, Agya at his side.

“Nemis is keeping an eye on the dais. There
are
guards
behind it. Both of us sensed them. They are alert and tense, but they don’t seem
to be about to leave their post. The kitchens next?”

Vlandar nodded. “We’ll take them now. How many in there?”

“Three giantesses and four ogres,” Malowan replied. “No
guards.”

“Hmm.” Vlandar suddenly smiled. “Khlened, it’s time for a
genuine berserker attack, I think. The noise won’t matter, and it may scare the
cooks into surrendering their prisoners. If not, Mal can be there to free them.”

The barbarian grinned fiercely. “Good idea. Give me Bleryn,
though. He and I fight good t’gether, and more’d be in th’ way.”

“Agreed,” Vlandar said. “We’ll wait out here to grab any that
escape you.”

“Won’t be any,” the barbarian assured him, and with an unholy
gleam in his eyes, he drew the two-handed sword and strode into the kitchen.
Bleryn was right on his heels, battle-axe in one hand and sword in the other.

Vlandar and Malowan drew their own swords and eased around a
rock that partially blocked the entry. Lhors and Agya followed on their heels.

Khlened stopped partway into the room to bellow what sounded
like vicious curses in his own language. The dwarf simply roared and charged
straight at the cook, who shrieked, tripped and fell, then turned to scramble
away on her hands and knees, but only as far as a rack of knives. Bleryn beat
her to it, and brought his axe down on her arm. She howled in agony, collapsing
on the floor in a huddle. The other two giantesses turned to flee into the hall,
saw swordsmen there, and hesitated.

Malowan’s sword burst into flame. The giantesses shrieked in
terror and turned to flee into the dark to the north. Bleryn charged after the
two, but Khlened swung the sword like a madman, sending steaming pots flying and
sweeping piles of things onto the floor. At some point, he’d downed two of the
ogres, and one was most definitely dead while the other crawled toward the door,
bleeding freely and apparently unaware of Vlandar or Malowan. The paladin
brought his sword up and drove it into the ogre’s neck.

It was suddenly, blessedly quiet in the kitchen. In the
distance, they could hear whimpering and Bleryn’s roar, muted by a some turn in
the passage. Khlened looked around then strode off that way. Malowan began
murmuring—praying, Lhors thought—under his breath. The whimpering ceased
abruptly, and moments later the dwarf came back, Khlened right behind him. His
eyes were dull now, and he seemed barely to have the strength to get his sword
back into the sheath, but no one would have dared to offer him help.

Agya tugged at Malowan’s sleeve and the two sprinted across
the kitchen to open cages and free the four imprisoned men. They all moved
stiffly, but they didn’t seem harmed otherwise, and they were warmly clad. One,
a tall, black-haired fellow with a grizzled beard, spoke briefly to Malowan,
then came over to grip Vlandar’s arm.

“I’m Jebis, out of Furyondy,” he said. “Member of the Lake
Guard. These three men”—his gesture took in older men who seemed dazed by the
sudden turn of events—“are from the high country around the barrens north of
that. Frost giants caught me as I was riding back to my barracks. Mobry here
says he and his two mates were hunting when they were taken. All four of us got
hauled in here two or three days ago. We owe you service, but why are you here?
It’s no safe place unless you’ve got an army.”

Vlandar explained, giving them a very brief version of their
mission.

Jebis considered this. “Sounds mad to me,” he said finally,
“but service I said, and I’m King’s Guard. I’ll help if I can.”

“Do you know this place?” Malowan asked. “We could use a
guide, frankly.”

Jebis shrugged. “Not so well. There’s a throne in the big
cave and a passage to the left of it, but a big rock blocks the end. There’s a
big room past that with all manner of junk in it: weapons and trophies and such.
Up from that, there’s another enormous cave with all kinds of giants. Looked
like families to me, young ones and all. Guess whoever our guards wanted wasn’t
there, so they hauled us back out to that throne and the chief came out—”

“Came out from where?” Vlandar asked.

“The same tunnel I mentioned, I suppose, but I don’t think he
came from that big room. There was a heavy drape over the far end of that junk
room, and this Jarl had a look about him that reminded me of my captain when
he’s called out from his private quarters. I can’t be sure of that, of course.”

“Anything else you saw then?” Malowan asked. “Guards coming
from any of the other tunnels, perhaps guests? Anything, however trivial,
anything odd?”

“Odd…” Jebis echoed, then shook himself. “Was one thing,
not so odd perhaps, though it struck me at the time. When the Jarl came out,
there was someone behind him—human-sized and all wrapped in a cloak. A servant I
thought then, or maybe a slave. But the way it stood… it looked arrogant.
Even though I couldn’t see any weapon on the creature, the Jarl kept glancing
back as if it scared him. And the creature just looked at him. I mean,” he added
with a forced smile, “I’ve been here all of a few days, and I learned right off
who’s in charge
here.”

“What else could you make out?” Vlandar asked.

“Not sure it wasn’t just the light,” the man said. He frowned
at his hands, apparently trying to recall something. “But even when the
creature’s head was tipped back, what was under the hood was uncommonly
dark—black, even.”

Malowan and Vlandar eyed each other briefly, before the
paladin spoke. “It’s possible that may prove useful. We’ll bear it in mind.”

“Whether it is or no,” Vlandar assured him, “we’ll try to get
you safe from here.”

“Give me a sword or a pike, and I’ll help you best I can,”
Jebis replied.

Bleryn handed over two of his pikes. Jebis hefted them,
tested the balance, and nodded his thanks.

“All right,” Vlandar said. “Our way is south, then left past
the throne. Everyone alert, and Nemis, stay up front with me. Mal, keep an eye
and a spell on our back trail.”

Maera stepped in front of him, Florimund’s hand in hers.
“Paladin, your sort preach kindness. You cannot leave my cousin in this state!
You saw his condition when we found him, and I know well that he fears to sleep
because his dreams put him back in that cell or the torturer’s—” She closed her
eyes and swallowed hard. “He has done nothing wrong! Weak as he is, he has done
his best to help you, and for that, our fine mage has forced him to sleep.”

“A dreamless sleep,” Nemis began.

But Maera waved him off. “So he says, Paladin, but I have
been with my cousin this hour, and your mage has not. I can keep him quiet and I
swear to you I will, if you but lift the spell.”

Malowan glanced at Nemis, then fixed his eyes on Maera, who
met his gaze steadily. Her voice was hoarse, as if she fought tears. “How can
you allow an innocent to be so cruelly used, Malowan?” she whispered.

Lhors glanced at Rowan. The ranger’s eyes were fixed on the
distant throne, her lips set.

Malowan looked at Vlandar, who gazed back at him without any
sign Lhors could make out. “The innocent must not suffer,” Malowan said, very
softly. “And so, what dare I, except to grant your plea?” He laid his hands upon
the half-elf’s face, and at his touch, Florimund awoke.

If he cries out, Lhors thought, we’re all doomed. But the
paladin had done something to soothe the fellow, or perhaps Nemis’ earlier
sleep spell had. The half-elf merely gazed around, then allowed Maera to draw
him aside so they could speak.

“You know why I cast that spell,” Nemis said. He looked
angry.

Malowan shook his head. “Yes, and I agreed with what you did.
But would it not be better not to distance Maera from us—or her sister? We know
to watch him, after all. And you and I have ways of watching that use more than
eyes.”

As the party gathered for a brief rest, Nemis went off with
Rowan to guard his back. He was sure that he could get close enough to cast a
spell on the two guards beneath the dais. They were gone no more than a few
moments.

“Sleeping like little lambs,” the mage announced with a
smile.

“Well done,” Vlandar said. “Take a few moments to rest, then
we’re off again.”

Maera drew the injured half-elf back into the kitchens with
her, talking to him the whole time. She looked tense, Lhors thought. Florimund
gave Nemis and Malowan a baffled look but finally shrugged listlessly, as though
nothing mattered much. He still seemed unsteady on his feet and winced as the
ranger laid a hand on his arm.

“Odd,” Nemis remarked softly to Vlandar after the half-elf
was out of earshot. “When I heal someone no worse hurt than he was, the healing
takes. He was in pain, yes, but mostly cut and bruised—nowhere nearly as bad as
some I’ve helped.”

“I agree it seems odd,” Vlandar said. “You didn’t take his
memories away, did you?”

The mage shrugged. “I did what I could to ease his mind, you
know. But whatever aid I’ve offered him since, Maera refuses for him. And he
does not seem eager for that healing.”

“I’ll tell you that ’e’s fakin,” Agya murmured. She had come
silently up behind them. “Not my business, listenin’ to wizard-talk, but yon
Florimund? I don’t trust ’im so far’s I could spit ’im.”

Malowan came up behind her. He sighed. “Agya, I know, but not
all are used to violence. Merely being taken prisoner would be enough to terrify
a gentle fellow. But I
had
to waken him. Maera will not listen to any
word against Florimund and besides, I have no proof against him. He is not evil,
that I can tell.”

Agya merely cast up her eyes.

“Let us be done with this,” Vlandar urged. “Mal, Florimund is
your watch—and Maera as well.”

The paladin nodded.

“We’re ready to go, then?” Vlandar added. “I know most of us
needed a short rest here, but we have little time to spare. We don’t know when
the guard change occurs, but we do know what the incoming guards will find—a
trail of bodies.”

“I agree,” Malowan said. “And we have yet to find the Jarl’s
private chambers.”

“Or his treasuries, though I would like it better if we found
another scroll like the last one you and Agya found.” Vlandar beckoned the rest
of his company close. “All right, people,” he began, “we’ve crossed much of the
Rift, but there is still danger. Nemis has neutralized the two guards behind the
dais, but there may be others, or servants wandering the halls. None of us know
what we will find once we get to the Jarl’s chambers, but we must be utterly
quiet. You four”—he looked at the rescued prisoners—“stay in our midst. We’ve
given you what weapons we can, and if things come to a fight, we’ll welcome your
help. But we have a goal that lies beyond this place, and our best way to get
there—and to get you free of the Rift—is to use stealth. We are spies, not an
army.”