Vaughn Heppner - Giants

The chores helped calm Joash’s thoughts. Seraphs, giants, and First Born who controlled sabertooths, it was all very daunting. He wanted to forget about trolocks, the lichs of bene elohim , and ancient weapons forged in an age of Earth-shattering wars. He was a groom, and someday, despite his leanness, he wanted to become a charioteer.

Joash rubbed his nose, wondering how Harn was doing, and then he wondered about Nestor. Would Nestor continue to be Herrek’s groom when his leg healed? Or would Nestor also step up in rank and become a warrior? Nestor’s bold drawing of his sword when the yellow-fanged sabertooth had attacked could be enough to propel him into warrior-hood.

“Here now,” Othniel said, “quit staring at the flames or you’ll burn the rabbits.”

Joash grinned sheepishly, giving the spits a turn. The rabbits smelled good. His mouth watered in anticipation.

“Wonder which beach we’ll use,” Karim said, sitting at the fire.

Joash cocked an ear, but was sidetracked when Amery nudged him.

“Bet you don’t get to eat any of your rabbits,” she whispered. She ran off to Lord Uriah’s fire, where Adah and the standard-bearer sat.

Joash frowned. He wondered if Adah was avoiding him, and he frowned because he knew that Amery was probably right. Too bad he hadn’t been able to bag one more rabbit. Actually, that he’d gotten one, let alone two, had made him feel good. His slinging had improved. Ever since the incident with the hyenas his confidence with the sling had soared. Confidence seemed more important than closing one eye and aiming, or trying to remember what the Massa slave had said about releasing one string at precisely the right moment. It wasn’t a confidence that he could manufacture, either. It had to be a gut-level feeling. After saving Harn and himself from the hyenas, he just knew he could hit what he aimed at. Now when he missed, it didn’t shatter his confidence like it used to. He just shrugged and tried again. Two rabbits had been the result.

“Are they ready yet?” shaggy-bearded Karim asked.

Joash eyed the meat. He turned one spit and listened to drops of fat sizzle from the other. “Soon, Warrior.”

“How did you slay them?” Karim asked. “With a javelin?”

Joash shook his head.

“Well how in the—

”—They’re ready,” Joash said. He took the spits, and with his knife he pushed the mouth-watering meat onto a white cloth.

Karim frowned for only a moment. Then he stabbed a piece after Herrek and Othniel had. Gens took a piece next, and after him the other two drivers.

“Tasty,” Karim said, with grease staining his lips. He glanced at the cloth. All the cooked rabbit was gone. He tore off a chunk. “Here, you should at least taste your own handiwork.”

The kindness surprised Joash. He thanked the red-bearded warrior and gobbled the tidbit. It was tasty. Now, more than ever, he wished he’d bagged three, instead of just two rabbits.

“Your new groom’s a good forager,” Karim said, as he wiped his hands on his leathers.

Herrek nodded.

“How’d you do it?” Karim asked. “Surely not with your new spear.”

“No, Warrior.”

“Well?” Karim asked, his voice rising.

“A sling.”

Karim’s bushy red eyebrows rose. So did Othniel’s blond ones.

“A handy tool, that sling,” Gens said before anyone could chide Joash about using Shurite weaponry.

Othniel grunted, while Karim scratched his bristly chin. At last, he said, “Yes, a good forager’s tool, I suppose. But don’t be thinking it will save you in a fight. Learn to cast your spear with skill. Only then will you become a warrior.”

Joash nodded, amazed they didn’t laugh at him. Then again, maybe warm rabbit in the belly was hard to argue with.

Soon Joash was up. He brushed the horses, checked their hooves, inspected the chariot, and found a worn pin in the yoke. He replaced the pin with a new one, dabbed some grease onto the wheels, and tapped a nail down that held the leather tire in place. He studied the dogs next. They panted, but each seemed content. With all that done, he went to the fire where the warriors talked and lay down to rest. It seemed that only a moment later the word was given to move out. Joash rubbed his eyes and harnessed the team. Only when all was ready did the warriors finally bestir themselves. They belted their swords, picked up their helmets, and climbed aboard their vehicles.

The advance continued, with scouts fanning out to check for ambushes. An hour later, a chariot careened back. “Sabertooths!” the warrior roared. Herrek led the squad that went to investigate. Joash stayed behind, taking his place with Herrek’s new hounds. Soon, Herrek returned. The scouts had just seen a local pride. The huge beasts lay in the shade of a big boulder, not even stirring when the entire company wheeled past.

The day wore on. Finally, Herrek took his turn as a scout. Othniel joined him. It was several hours before dusk, and the consensus was that the beach was still two hours of stiff marching away.

“Sooner or later, Tarag will know we survived,” Joash told Herrek.

“True enough.”

Gens flicked the reins. The horses broke into a trot. Alongside, the dogs kept pace. Joash, who had climbed aboard at Herrek’s command, hung onto the railing. It was a tight fit aboard the chariot, but now that he was a groom, he would, from time to time, be allowed this privilege.

They left the company behind, with Othniel about fifty yards to the right. Together they entered a zone of thistles and bur-bearing grasses. Joash groaned inwardly. At the next rest stop he’d be busy picking burs out of horse and dog-hides, and thorns out of the paws of the hounds. They passed a grove of trees and a field of chariot-sized boulders, and came upon the rut of a dry riverbed. It slowed the chariots as the drivers eased their vehicles in and out of it. In the distance stood a tall field of stalks, and a slow walking herd of steppe ponies. Somewhere beyond the horses lay the beach and the green Suttung Sea.

Herrek gave an order.

Joash jumped down and whistled for the dogs. They trotted over. He took up a position halfway between Herrek and Othniel’s chariots. Joash’s stomach tightened at the thought of being in the most exposed position. Tarag surely must know by now that his sabertooths had failed. Would the First Born return to slay them? Joash hoped not, but he kept a sharp eye out for sabertooths.

Not much later one of the dogs, a big brown one, swiveled his wedge-shaped head from side to side. He smelled or heard something. Two other hounds trotted toward the first one. The white-headed hound tested the air again. The wind shifted, however.

Joash readied his spear. Should he call Herrek or investigate this? He didn’t want to stumble onto sabertooths by himself. He whistled to the dogs. They looked at him.

“Come here.”

Dutifully they did. Then, surrounded by five big hounds, he cautiously moved in the direction that the white-headed dog had headed. One of the hounds barked at a thick clump of thistles. Joash froze. He saw a thistle frond shift. It moved in the opposite direction as the wind. For a sick instant, he was certain a sabertooth was going to bound out of hiding.

Herrek shouted.

Joash didn’t hear the warrior’s words, although he recognized the tone of command. A whip snapped and horses whinnied. With a quick glance over his shoulder Joash saw the chariot surge toward him. Another dog barked at the thick clump of thistles. The hackles rose on the other hounds. Joash aimed the spear at the thistles, but didn’t advance.

He saw movement. His gut clenched. He was about to give the attack order when out from behind the thistles rose a nearly naked man. Joash stared in amazement. The man was shorter than he was, but was incredibly stocky, almost misshapen with his thick, crooked limbs. The man had massive shoulders, and long arms knotted with muscles. A giant dwarf was Joash’s impression, a man who should have been tall and powerful, but instead, was twisted and thick, like a gnarled oak-root.