David Farland - Beyond the Gate

Fenorah talked long and boisterously, asking Gallen’s business. When Gallen said that he wanted to purchase a wagon and draft animals, Fenorah called a serving boy and ordered them, as if he’d been ordering dinner, and the boy rushed to fetch them.

Then, Fenorah took them down to the “docks,” the stones where the sea people rose from the dark waters, their tails flashing silver, and there Fenorah talked to Gallen of the city’s trade agreements.

He showed Maggie and Gallen a great cavern where the annual fairs were held, where images of the city’s founders were carved in three giant stalactites, so that their beards were hanging shards of stone. Fenorah then took them to the upper chambers above the city, where small swarthy men and women of the Ntak race still carved, singing in high voices as their picks and hammers rang, with each blow extending the city back deeper and deeper into the bones of the earth.

The giant seemed to Maggie to be enormously proud of his city. He was obviously a man of wealth, a man of worries. And at last when they were in the far upper recesses of a cave, looking back down over a vast stairway of a thousand feet, and the ringing of hammers and picks below them rose like some strange music, Fenorah motioned for Gallen and Maggie to sit on a rock. Then, with a grunt, he knelt down beside them, and stared down into the distance.

“Gallen, my friend,” the giant whispered, his voice a mere grumble, hard to be heard over the ringing hammers, the piping music. “There was a ship that burned last night, a ship not far off the beach. Its sails lit up like a bonfire, and we could see it sailing as if it would fall off the edge of the world.”

“Aye?” Gallen asked, curiously.

“Aye,” the giant grunted. “The sea folk went to investigate, and they brought back some survivors.” The giant sighed, measured his words. “They told … stories, about a swordsman with two beautiful women. They hinted that he was a great warrior, and that they would pay well for his capture. Too well.”

“And what did you tell them?” Gallen said.

“I sent them away, though I’ve thought better of it since. They had broken none of our laws, and yet.…”

“And yet what?”

“And yet I found it hard to spare them their lives.” Fenorah dug his hand into the stone at his feet, broke off a small boulder. Maggie had not seen any sign of a chink in the stone, and even Gallen caught his breath at witnessing the giant’s tremendous strength. “The thing is, Battic is small for a sea town, and distant from other cities. We don’t even have a port. And we’ve been careful to watch one another, protect each other. Perhaps for this reason, we have escaped the Inhuman’s scrutiny. We have been … beneath notice. But I fear that now the Inhuman will turn its face our way, if it is searching for you. It’s a small fear, perhaps unfounded.”

Maggie took all of this in. If the agents of Inhuman had been turned loose from town, then perhaps they would be out in the countryside, hunting even now. She suddenly feared for Ceravanne, who had only Orick to protect her. More importantly, she understood that Fenorah, despite his great strength, was asking them to make a hasty retreat.

“I suspect,” Gallen said, “that such fears are unfounded. Did you see which way they went?”

“Four of the Inhuman’s servants went to the south, toward the wilderness of Moree,” the giant whispered. “Five to the woods to the east.”

Maggie caught her breath. Despite their best efforts, the Inhuman’s agents were still searching for them in greater force than she’d imagined. It would be easy for a few servants of the Inhuman to find others like themselves, raise the countryside against them.

Fenorah studied them from the corner of his eyes. “I … have to admit that I am not above spying on a stranger. When the nine were alone in the medic’s chamber, I listened to them from the hole above. They spoke of a Lord Protector who should not be allowed to reach Moree.”

Gallen did not answer for a moment. “Even if it is true that you have escaped the Inhuman’s scrutiny so far,” he said, “it will not remain so forever. Unless the Inhuman is destroyed, you and your people will be found.”

“And what can one man do against it?” Fenorah grumbled. “I fear that the Inhuman is more powerful than you know.”

Gallen said, “There is more than one warrior here, unless I miss my guess. Perhaps you and some of your kind would join me.” Maggie held her breath, for she wished that this strong man would come with them. An army of them would be formidable.

“I am of the Im people,” Fenorah said. “I could not travel inland with you, away from the sea. Me and my brothers cannot drink your fresh water. We would die after a few days’ march.”

Maggie’s heart fell, and she wondered what Gallen would do without the giants’ help. Somehow, though she had not admitted it to herself, to go into that wilderness alone seemed … unthinkable.

“Then let me have a wagon,” Gallen asked, “and tell no one that I came this way.”

“Done.” The giant nodded. He looked at Gallen from the corner of his eye once again. “And more. I’ll come with you, and bring my brothers, so long as your road leads by the sea. The Inhuman will have to show some restraint, with us at hand.”

“I accept your offer, gratefully,” Gallen said.

“Good.” The giant slapped his knee and he got up, took Maggie’s hand and helped her to her feet.

“One thing more,” Maggie said. “Among the survivors, did you find a pale woman?”

“The Champlianne?” the giant said. “Aye, she’s safe.”

“She’s not Inhuman, I don’t think,” Maggie said.

“Neither do I. She’s well, resting in my own house,” Fenorah assured her. “My wife is caring for her.”

Maggie found herself suddenly teary-eyed with relief. As far as the others on the ship went, she had trusted none of them, but she hated the thought that this innocent woman might have died in the skirmish. Gallen put his arm over Maggie’s shoulders, hugged her for a moment.

Then Fenorah led them back down the long stairs, to the mouth of the city, where the serving boy had readied a fine wagon carved of cherrywood, with ornate scrollwork and bas-reliefs of trees and dancing rabbits on every panel. Gallen slapped the wagon, commenting on its fine Maker build, and Maggie wondered at his knowledge of it.

To pull the wagon, Fenorah had provided a beast that Maggie had never seen before, nor ever imagined. It stood tall as a horse, but was built more like a cow. It had a great hump at its shoulders, and while most of it was a creamy golden brown in color, shaggy black hair covered its head. Its small horns curved like those of a ram, and it glared about with small red eyes. It was both a fearsome creature, and powerfully built.

“What is this thing called?” Maggie asked.

“A travelbeast,” Fenorah answered, obviously surprised that she did not know. “His kind are greatly prized. He has greater endurance than a bull, and greater speed than a horse. He sees in the dark, and is smart enough to understand a few small words.” He hissed a little lower. “And he will trample anyone who gets in his way.”

Maggie climbed up into the seat of the wagon, saw that it was lightly loaded with baskets of fruit, a barrel of salted fish, and plenty of blankets. On impulse she grabbed the giant, hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she whispered fiercely, and found herself fighting back tears once again.

“It is my pleasure,” Fenorah said, and he went to find some men. In half an hour, six of the giants had gathered. Three ran out ahead of the wagon, while three others followed close behind.