Giants (10 page)

Joash agreed.

“Tarag would be a fool to face us in the open,” Gens said. “We would run circles around him, pinning him with our javelins. Then we could destroy him at our leisure.”

Joash didn’t think it was like Gens to boast.

“Do I speak the truth?” he asked Joash.

Joash checked a strap, pretending he didn’t hear Gens’s question. For almost two years he had been their runner. For almost two years, he’d watched Herrek and Gens build fame with their exploits. Their foemen however, except for Balak, had always been beast or man, not Nephilim nor the dreaded First Born. Did the evil reputation of such foes wilt the driver’s courage?

Gens called Herrek. The mail-clad warrior entered his chariot and signaled to Adah. She and Joash stepped into their chariot.

“Keep your spear ready,” she told Joash.

They rolled over the steppes and toward the lake. Behind them, dust swirled from the bison herds, while beyond waited tall grasses and whatever lay hidden in them.

“Are your eyes sharp?” Adah asked Joash.

“I hope so.”

“A good answer. I hope so, too. I would teach you about your adopted people.”

“Singer?”

“Do you understand the futility of trying to wound Tarag?”

Joash said nothing, thinking rather of how Herrek had been able to beat Balak, although only a beastmaster with a touch of Nephilim blood.

“We are on a desperate mission,” Adah said, “One fraught with sudden death. You must understand that.”

Joash tried to maintain a cool pose, but was shaken.

“I do not wish for you to have a false front like Gens.”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” Joash said, trying to reprimand her.

Adah gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes, you judge my words by charioteer valor. I understand. But, you must understand the horror we ride toward. Only then can you be prepared to face it.”

He waited.

“Know, Joash, that my clan fought Yorgash and his minions. In the steaming jungles of Poseidonis, we struggled to remain free. Our courage wasn’t the valor of charioteers, but of a desperate people clawing for the last purchase of life. Herrek is a proud warrior. He has strong armor and a mighty arm. His Asvarn stallions are swift and his chariot is his joy. He is a champion and is on a quest to slay Old Three-Paws. However, we face the First Born and their progeny. Their arms are mightier than ours, their armor made with more cunning. Their valor is awful.”

“How can we win?” Joash asked. If she and her people had been like him with Balak, then his heart went out to her. He understood hopelessness.

“Herrek thinks by fighting with valor that he will overcome all,” she said. “So has been his experience under his great, great grandfather’s tutelage. With First Born, it must be otherwise.”

“Like it was for you in Poseidonis?”

Adah nodded approvingly. “You ask probing questions. Yes. Maybe Lord Uriah is right about you. Know that in Poseidonis we fought naked, smeared from crown to heel with the juices of repugnant plants. Yorgash’s Gibborim couldn’t abide the smell. The silent bow winging poisoned arrows was our way, and cunning traps laid for the unwary and the proud. Even now, viper-poison coats the tips of my arrows.”

“Poison?” That was a coward’s weapon, Joash knew. Courage and honor, on those alone did a warrior rest his pride, and on his skill with weapons.

“We do not play a game, Joash, but war to the death. Valor is a wonderful armor, but it rests too much upon ignorance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I mean that wits, and an undying hatred of the enemy, are better tools than merely fighting and dying well. Tarag is our master in a straight-out fight. Hundreds of sabertooths are his to beckon. He must simply give the word and we will be swarmed. Therefore, wits, and the willingness to use any tool at hand, must be our way.”

Joash looked away, troubled by her words. A warrior fought with honor and courage. He made himself brave by being willing to die for what he fought for, and to fight for glory. Herrek would fight until the end. But so, it seemed, would Adah, even if she was willing to flee. She feared, there was no doubting that, and she was trying to get him to fear too. Why? Ah, suddenly he understood. She wanted to see if he had the courage to face Tarag. He nodded to himself. This was a secret test.

“Think upon my words,” Adah said.

Joash pondered. Herrek thought that some day he might make a fine warrior. The warrior had said so in the sod house. Joash swore to himself that whatever else happened, he would not let Herrek’s faith in him prove false.

“Smoke,” Herrek cried. “I see smoke.”

Joash shaded his eyes. Sure enough, far away, atop a huge boulder, black smoke threaded up. The boulders were near the lake.

“We ride for the smoke!” Herrek cried.

Chapter Seven

Old Three-Paws

As they approached the vineyards of Timnah, suddenly a young lion came roaring toward them.

-- Judges 14:5

The midsummer sun reached its zenith, and the air lost any hint of moisture. Horse-sweat was borne away before Joash could smell it. The wild steppe animals lay down or grazed sleepily, because the dire wolves, orns, and sabertooths had vanished. Most likely the carnivores would not leave their cool cave hollows or the shade of lonely trees until the sun had lost some of its horrid power.

Herrek slipped a white tunic over his mail and took off his heavy helmet. Sweat oozed from him nevertheless. Gens, less encumbered, suffered less. Still, whenever he shifted his grip he left damp spots of sweat on the elk-leather reins.

The boulders grew as the chariots crawled toward them. The boulders stood tall, like sentinels, and were an odd shade of yellow, no doubt from the Kragehul lichen that crept upon any stone left in this land. As they traveled, the black ribbon of smoke continued to thread its way skyward. Joash couldn’t imagine having to feed a fire in this heat. If Brand and Elidad had found safety there, they would surely be suffering.

Despite the urgency of their quest, Herrek called a halt under the shade of a tall sycamore tree, lest the horses suffer heatstroke. Gens and Joash watered the stallions while Herrek crouched upon his heels and eyed the boulders. He looked tired. Dried sweat left faint runnels of grime on his face, while dust left his hair chalky-looking. Adah joined Herrek. Joash strained to hear them.

“Sabertooths hate this heat,” Herrek said.

“This is a killing heat,” Adah agreed. “I wonder if it is natural.”

Herrek tore himself from his tight-lipped study of the boulders. “Do you think this heat is the work of First Born?”

Adah stirred uneasily.

“They do not wield such powers,” Herrek said.

“Certain of the
bene elohim
once did.”

Herrek frowned thoughtfully.

“Maybe this power has been passed on to one of the First Born,” Adah said.

Herrek sipped from his canteen. He didn’t look convinced.

“Each First Born and Nephilim is born with a gift,” Adah said, “The Accursed gift. Each child, unto the third generation, can do things not natural to us. Some gifts are trifling, others baleful. Maybe this heat is one of those gifts, for it is much hotter today than yesterday.”

“It is hot,” Herrek agreed.

“The awful among the evil ones have learned another terrible magic,” Adah said in a subdued tone.

“Necromancy?” asked Herrek.

“You have heard of it?”

Herrek was slow in answering. “Once, many years ago, Lord Uriah took twenty great, great grandchildren into his inner study in Havilah Holding and instructed us about the terrible arts used by the evil ones. He told us about their gift, and about legends that made us shudder. He also told us about necromancy, how the
bene elohim
Necroman long ago learned to use immortal spirits for his obscene spells. Lord Uriah said anyone who learned such arts was to be stoned and left for the dogs to gnaw.” Herrek scratched his cheek. “But such a skill, if it may be termed that, is incredibly difficult to master. The consequences of the improper usage of spirits may destroy the wielder.”

“You have been deeply taught,” Adah said.

“I am of the line of Lord Uriah.”

Adah laid a hand on his brawny forearm. “When I lived in Poseidonis, I witnessed many strange things. Yorgash knew the blasphemy of necromancy. He used such spells against my people.” She paused. “There is a taint here. I-I cannot be certain, because anyone who follows Elohim does not know the exact workings of magic. But I remember...” She removed took her hand. “I am troubled. I fear for Elidad.”

“That he is injured?”

“Yes, but more so in spirit than in body.”

Herrek didn’t answer right away. When he did, he was angry. “Elidad is the great, great grand-nephew of Lord Uriah. He is a warrior, a brave man. He may not be turned from Elohim’s path.”

“Why did he travel inland?” Adah asked.

“Elidad must have scented a great danger or was chased by Old Three-Paws, whom I shall slay.”

“Would Elidad just drive off?”

“You told us before that Tarag is here,” Herrek said. “Maybe it was impossible for Elidad to return to camp.”

“I’ve debated with myself, and I’ve recalled horrors from Poseidonis that once haunted my dreams. Elidad’s journey inland seems unnatural. I fear we’ve stumbled upon something very grave indeed.”

“Do you suggest we abandon Elidad and Brand?”

Adah shook her head.

“What then?” Herrek asked.

Joash had to strain to catch her words.

“That we strengthen our thoughts, and that we are wary when we meet Elidad. Never forget that the evil ones are cunning. We must be on guard against their magic.”

Herrek lifted his chin. At last, he nodded. “I accept your advice, Singer. I see it as caution against the Nephilim. But I do not accept this slander against Elidad. Like us, he serves Elohim. For years, I have fought with him against the Shurites and against the treacherous Huri of the forests. Never have I questioned Elidad’s bravery, or his judgment. Maybe he is bolder than others are, but that is to be praised, not slandered. Do you understand my words?”

Adah nodded.

“Then let us see what the black smoke means.”

They moved into the sunlight. The heat hit Joash like a physical blow. His face hurt, and the back of his neck was dotted with sweat. He wore a hat, but too often the sunlight managed to sneak past the brim as he turned this way and that. He tried to keep his face aimed at the ground and saw the wilted grass and the puffs of dust raised by hooves. The sun mercilessly beat the strength and endurance out of the stallions.

“I’m going to walk,” he told Adah.

Joash strode beside Koton. The black dog panted, with his pink tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Beads of moisture dripped from the tongue. Herrek walked too, but shortly traded places with Gens.

Joash’s thoughts drifted. Old Three-Paws had slain Ard, perhaps at this terrible Tarag’s orders. Sabertooths were horribly strong brutes, like the young yellow-fanged male who had wounded Harn and broken Nestor’s leg. Joash had been terrified yesterday when the sabertooth charged. Adah said Tarag was the King of Sabertooths. What chance did they have against a creature like that?

Joash took off his hat and wiped his brow.

Maybe Tarag wasn’t the right beast to fear. Old Three-Paws was the one to fear, Old Three-Paws the hunter of men, Old Three-Paws the slayer of Jeremoth...

***

Old Three-Paws lay panting in the shade of the boulders. He had feasted well upon horseflesh and had delighted himself when he’d smashed the two-legs’ head. The helmet had crumbled under his blow and brain had leaked out. He’d licked some of the gore, but had left it for others of his pride to taste and enjoy.

That did nothing to ease their fear, however. The stink of it was heavy upon them. Three more members had slipped back to the god-creature.

A rock clattered against stone. Three-Paws looked up. The rock tumbled toward him, and then bounced off into the sunlight. He put his head back onto his good paw. The lone two-legs on the boulders still tried to hit him. It didn’t matter. The two-legs would die in time. Three-Paws wouldn’t leave the cubbing den area until this two-legs was dead. Not the god-creature, not an army of two-legs, not even a herd of trumpeting mammoths, could drive him from here. The cubbing den was sacrosanct. He would slay any that invaded it.

Another rock bounced toward him. This one sped truly. Three-Paws rose and stepped closer to the boulder. In a moment the rock thudded onto the grassy ground where he’d just lain.

Despite his full stomach and the pleasure of slaying a two-legs, Three-Paws seethed with malice toward the one up there. He roared. How he hated and wished to crush them all. How he yearned to smell the scent of him who had given him the crippled paw. He would never forget that scent. When he found it, he would slay its owner. On that point, he’d been certain for many turnings of the seasons.

***

“They travel straight for the old sabertooth,” Mimir said. He wiped sweat from his brow before re-settling the heavy helmet onto his head.