Vaughn Heppner - Giants

The hard pace affects them, Joash thought in horror, but the magic won’t let them feel it. He felt utterly alone, abandoned among strangers. He didn’t want to travel any closer to the hills, he wanted to flee back to the camp. He wanted to tell Zillith everything he knew. Yet he couldn’t do that. For one thing, he’d never make it back. Tarag’s sabertooths would catch him, or perhaps a pack of dire wolves, or some orns. Or maybe the others would hunt him as a traitor, and slay him. At least Elidad might do that. The reason Joash wouldn’t try to go back went deeper. These were his friends. He had to save his friends. That’s what a warrior would do, that’s what Herrek had done for him two years ago.

Did warriors fear the way he feared now? And did warriors feel alone and abandoned? The pit of Joash’s stomach curled, and he felt drained. Koton brushed against his leg then, and the dog wagged his tail. Joash touched Koton’s big head. Koton licked his hand. Joash grinned and rubbed behind Koton’s ears.

“At least you’re not bewitched,” he whispered. “At least I’m not all alone.”

Before he could do any more, Herrek shouted, and Gens spoke to his team. The chariots rolled and Joash followed. They traveled toward the pass. By late morning they would reach the dreaded hills. By then it would be too late to do anything to save the others. Of that, Joash was certain.

Joash clenched his teeth and concentrated upon proper breathing. Two long strides, breathe in, hold for two more strides, then let out for two more. His right side felt as if his muscles had been sewn together. Every turn, every twist pulled at the spear-throwing muscles and caused needle-sharp pain.

At times he almost pitched aside his spear. Carrying it hurt his rhythm, and it was heavier today than yesterday. He longed for a javelin, remembering how its slight bounce had seemed to add to his running rhythm rather than destroying it. Pride ran too deep, however, to ask either Herrek or Elidad to carry his spear in their chariots.

The others pulled ahead until Joash was fifty yards behind. They topped a small rise, leaving him all alone. It was then, from behind a clump of boulders, that Joash heard loud screeching. He whirled around to see a huge, ten-foot orn dashing at him. The flightless bird had a wicked-looking yellow beak, like a pickaxe. The orn ran on big, three-clawed toes with razor-sharp talons. Orns were like the ostriches of the South, but were bigger, were meat-eaters, and were known for their savage temperament.

Joash froze before he yelled and brought up his spear. The orn screeched and flapped its stubby, useless wings. Its eyes blazed with predatory zeal. When it was only twenty feet away and closing an arrow whizzed over Joash’s head and sank into the orn’s breast. The orn staggered, righted itself, and renewed the charge. Another arrow hissed. The orn screeched with rage, baffled at these slivers of flying wood.

Joash took that split-second to regain his courage and hurled his spear at the staggering orn. If he missed, he was dead. He didn’t miss. Incredibly, however, the orn didn’t go down, but still staggered for him as if drunk. A final arrow hissed into the orn’s head. The orn sank to the ground, its huge legs spasmodically kicking.

Joash knew that if there had been just one more orn, that he’d be dead. He also knew he didn’t mind carrying the heavy spear.

Adah walked up to him with a strange smile on her face.

“That was wonderful shooting,” he said. “Thanks.”

She laid a warm hand on his cheek.

Impulsively, Joash kissed her.

She blinked. “What was that for?”

He shrugged sheepishly, but felt supreme.

“Koton kept barking at me,” she said. “The only way to get him to stop was to come back and help you. Now, hurry up and get your spear. We have no more time to waste.”

For a while he kept thinking about her hand on his cheek, and how he’d kissed her. He thought, too, of the orn, and that Adah had come back to help him. Maybe Adah wasn’t under the emeralds’ spell as much as the others were.

The pace never slackened, and Joash worked hard to keep up. The heat truly began when they came to a pool of black water. A basin of stone held the murky water, while bleached skeletons of bison, horses, and prairie dogs dotted the rocky ledge.

“It’s poisoned,” Adah said. “Don’t let the horses drink from it.”

They drove from the well and later parked in the shade of stunted bushes. Small red birds nested in the thorny branches and sang warbling songs. Joash unhitched and watered the stallions, using the chariot’s water-skin to fill the leather bucket.

The hills were close, and from here Joash saw sharp ledges, pointed boulders, and deep, dark crevices. Yellow lichen clung to the rock and shale abounded. The hills looked rotten, as if they were brittle and ready to break. Grass, trees, and bushes were noticeable in their absence. No animals roamed there, although vultures soared on the heated updrafts. The nearby pass looked bleak, and Joash spied brown, diseased grass. The sun blazed with malignant might. It was like an evil eye, watching them, gauging their levels of endurance, mocking them all the while.

“We must find water to refill the water-skins,” Adah told Herrek.

From underneath his helmet, Herrek frowned.

“There will be no good water in the hills,” she said.

“Perhaps you’re wrong,” Herrek said.

Adah shook her head.

“Look at the river,” Herrek said, pointing far off to the right.

“That portion is no longer cursed,” she said. “The rains have cleansed it.”

Herrek shrugged. “We will drive to the cave, defeat the enemy, and drive back. The water we have will have to last.”

Adah shook her head, muttering.

“We cannot delay,” Herrek said. “Speed is of the essence.”

“What do you know?” Elidad asked Adah.

Her hand went to the red sash where she kept the parchment. She opened her mouth.

“We must leave,” Herrek said.

Elidad rubbed his bristly chin. “We must know the number and type of our foes.”

“It matters not.” Herrek lifted his spear. “This will be enough.”

Elidad didn’t look convinced. “Tell us what you know,” he told Adah.

“Much is hidden,” she warned.

“Yes, but you’ve studied the parchment,” Elidad said. “Perhaps you’ve deciphered some of the strange marks.”

She nodded slowly, her features showing her uncertainty.

“You know many of the old legends,” Joash added.

Elidad glanced at him, smiled, and nodded in approval.

“I…” Adah touched the sash again, and then she lowered herself until she sat on her boot heels. Her eyes shone, and she began to speak quickly. It was as if a dam had holed up her words, but now that dam was broken, and everything came gushing out.

“It is bene elohim script, as you guessed, difficult to decipher. The script speaks of names infamous during the Accursed War. Names that defined magic, power, and brutal conquest. There is Draugr Trolock-Maker, Magog, and the wicked Morbain Kang. First Born were also named. There is Jotnar Father of Giants, Gog the Oracle, and the Nameless One who led the evil Niflmen of the Far North. Allied with these terrible ones was a host of the sons of Cain. They planned to sweep all before them.” Adah paused before adding softly, “A battle was fought here and awful magic released.”

“The parchment said all that?” Elidad asked suspiciously.