Vaughn Heppner - Giants

Elidad frowned.

Adah made a sound of surprise.

“Yes,” Gens said slowly. “That’s true. I see no animals.”

“Evil?” Elidad asked.

“The Hills of Kel-Hemen are cursed,” Joash said, as he lifted the spear-point. He leaned upon the shaft as he’d seen warriors do. “Adah told us about the curse, about the abomination committed here. Draugr Trolock-Maker raised these hills. Perhaps no animal is able to enter here.”

Adah made a soft hiss. The others glanced at her. She took out the parchment and studied it intently.

“Are you saying we must walk?” Herrek asked.

Joash nodded.

“No,” Gens said. “We must use the chariots to defeat the Nephilim.”

Elidad laughed harshly. “Then you must hitch the Groom,” he said, sheathing his sword.

“Go afoot?” Herrek asked. He studied the horses. “So be it.” He stepped down, motioned Joash, and slung the chariot water-skin around Joash’s shoulder. Joash’s knees almost buckled at the weight.

Elidad grunted and lifted his shield. He tucked a wallet of dried herring to his belt and two empty sacks.

Gens stood in indecision.

“Will you stay with the chariots?” Herrek asked his driver.

Tears welled in Gens’s eyes.

“Here,” Joash said, feeling pity for Gens. “Let’s find a safe place for the horses, and put their reins under heavy rocks.”

“Yes,” Herrek said, “wise counsel.”

“No predators will harm them here,” Adah said.

Joash wandered if that was true. He unhitched the stallions, parked the chariots, and made sure the rocks pinning the reins were unsteady. They weren’t coming back. This way the stallions had a chance of getting loose and returning to camp.

“Hurry,” Herrek cried from around the bend.

“Guard the horses,” Joash told Koton.

The black dog whined. Still, he rested in the closest chariot and put his head on his paws. Joash wondered how many days would have to pass before Koton left.

“Groom,” Herrek shouted.

With an oath, Joash lifted the sloshing water-skin and staggered toward the others. When they saw him, they began to trek into the Pass of Kel-Hemen.

The heat baked until sweat soaked their clothes and their plastered hair stuck to their scalps. Joash was the worst off. The water-skin-strap dug into his shoulder, and his spear had become an unbearable burden. Twice, he almost heaved it aside. Later, he almost sat and cried out for them to halt. A fierce glance from Herrek stilled the idea. Joash plodded on, the oily grass brushing the tops of his feet, making them feel grimy.

Finally, they paused. Adah glanced at her map. “Not yet,” she said. They plodded onward.

Joash’s lips were cracked, and sweat stung his eyes. His leg muscles quivered and all thoughts of food made him queasy.

The wind moaned and strange odors swirled. It was the stink of corruption, of rusted metals and burnt rocks, of fungus fumed to ward off flies. The shale was sharp, and white spots dotted the brown grass. Even worse than the terrain were the emeralds’ growing effects upon the others. Joash saw their staring, eager eyes, the way their mouths were agape, and how they walked with a light tread. Their skin glistened and turned an odd shade of yellow. No one spoke, although Gens crooned to himself and once he even looked back. His love for the horses was strong, but it wasn’t strong enough to break the evil magic.

Adah stopped and peered at the pass’s rock walls. The pass had narrowed and they stood in shadow. Elidad wiped his face, and he drank from the small water-skin slung at his side. No one had yet refilled the skins from Joash’s crippling burden.

Joash sat down and eased the strap from his shoulder. He began to shake. Suddenly, he bent over and threw up a bitter-tasting gruel. His skin blazed with fever. When it passed he momentarily felt better. It came to him that the others were beyond helping him. If he were to survive in order to help them , he’d have to take matters into his own hands. He took out a piece of leather and soaked it. Then he took out his knife and cut the leather into a long sling.

“Onward!” Herrek shouted.

Joash didn’t rise. He worked on his leather.

“Groom,” Herrek said.

Joash looked up wearily.

“March.”

“Yes, Warrior. Now could someone please help lift me up?”

Herrek stared at him. Adah, Gens, and Elidad had already begun to climb the treacherous boulder to their right. They planned to assail the steep side. It seemed like a ludicrous idea.

“I need help.”

“March,” Herrek said.

“Yes, Warrior. Now, could you order the others here so I can top off their water-skins? Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll collapse and be of no use to you.”

Herrek glared at him.

Elidad turned, frowned and walked back. “We must not weary him. Otherwise, who will carry the treasure?”

Gens joined Joash, then Adah, and finally Herrek. Each topped off their water-skins, which gave Joash time to complete his sling. He knotted the wet leather to the spear-shaft. Then he took out catgut thread from his kit and sewed the knots tight.

When Joash rose the water-skin was lighter by a third. Once the sling dried he’d slip the spear over his back. He used the hope of that time to spur himself. The others bounded up one rock to the next, like mountain goats.

They re-entered the sunlight, the rocks burning Joash’s hands. He slowly dropped behind. Despite Herrek and Elidad’s heavy mail, huge shields, spears, and longswords, they climbed from one ledge to the next with the ease. Even small Adah climbed faster than Joash did. She ran on the slenderest of rocky spires and made an incredible leap, then scrabbled up by her fingers and rushed after the others.

As he followed her trail Joash saw blood-smears on one sharp rock. Later, a patch of skin was stuck to an extremely hot black rock. He wheezed. The stale, burning air hurt his lungs. Slowly, he pulled himself to a lichen-strewn ledge, then reached down and pulled up his spear. When he looked, he saw Adah disappear around the narrow rock-trail that turned over fifty yards away.

Joash knew then that as long as he carried the chariot water-skin he’d never be able to keep up. He hung his head in exhaustion. The decision was a difficult one, although the logic was flawless. Yes, he knew good water in this blazing heat was life. And what if they perished because he’d been unable to do his job? But the truth was he needed to be with them at the critical moment, because only he wasn’t bewitched.

He cached the water-skin behind a rock and then studied his hill. A clump of boulders near the top looked like three old men hunched together in prayer. Green lichen, like a cloak, covered the middle rock. He memorized what they looked like.

Decision made, Joash slung the spear across his back and hurried after the others. He was careful to stay close to the cliff-edge. Unlike them, he still feared falling to the ground below. They leaped and bounded up, as if falling was a thing for mortals, not for them. Even so, without the chariot water-skin and with the spear now slung on his back, Joash was able to catch up to Adah. Maybe his days with Balak had been good for something after all. She scaled what looked like a sheer rock-face. He saw that it was angled slightly backward, and to his amazement, he saw handholds chiseled into the rock.

Awe filled him. Had Shining Ones chiseled the handholds long ago? Or maybe some warriors, who had been led by Shining Ones, had chiseled them. Yes, they’d chiseled the handholds as they hunted the defeated followers of Draugr Trolock-Maker. Maybe Niflmen, who had followed the Nameless One, had been chased up this very hill. Adah had said only a thousand Niflmen escaped to their northern strongholds.