Vaughn Heppner - Giants

Joash rubbed his eyes.

Nothing changed. The man was beetle-browed, had a blunt nose, wide cheekbones, and a coarse swath of long black hair. From underneath the tangle, the man’s dark eyes gleamed fiercely. He wore a wolfskin loincloth and beads around his neck. Several eagle feathers dyed red at the tip had been affixed around his head. He wore no sandals or shoes, but was barefoot.

Joash could only gape. What was a Huri doing here? They were forest folk, and infested the forbidding forests that surrounded Elon. Huri and Elonites were born enemies. They had been ever since Lord Uriah cleared the plains of them. The Huri were a strange and savage race that still used stone tools. This Huri, this giant dwarf, had a scant black beard. It meant he was older, for only the older men among them could grow facial hair.

Herrek shouted again. From the other direction, Othniel roared. The dogs growled, but they hadn’t been given the attack order.

The Huri raised his heavy black bow. The notched arrow was tipped with flint. Joash saw at a glance the crude shield of hide-covered wood on the Huri’s knotted forearm, the short barbed sword at his waist, and the stone-headed mallet. Joash didn’t know the Huri’s clan, for the man wore no woad , the blue paint they usually tattooed themselves with.

“You Lord Uriah’s man?” the Huri grunted.

“Yes,” Joash said, his wonder growing.

“Hold your dogs, or I kill.”

Joash blinked. Although he was taller, the savage was heavier. On the plains, despite their heavy bows, the Huri fell before the charioteers. But in their dense forests, the tables were often turned. Many Elonites had been slain in the forests, their skins used for the war drums so loved by the Huri.

“Heel,” Joash ordered the hounds.

The hounds glanced at him with their hackles still up.

“Heel. Sit.”

Reluctantly, the dogs obeyed.

The Huri eased tension from his bow. “Tell them, I friend.”

Joash frowned. Why was a Huri here?

“I from Captain Maharbal,” the Huri said, as if reading Joash’s thoughts. “I am free-fighter with message for Lord Uriah.”

Joash understood, or thought he did. Captain Maharbal, the Further Tarsh merchant who had given them passage to Giant Land, had hired free-fighters in the past. The citizens of Further Tarsh seldom become warriors. They were too busy trading for profit. Thus aboard their ships, especially when sailing into dangerous waters, they carried a contingent of free-fighters: warriors who sold their swords to the highest bidder. Incredibly, Captain Maharbal had hired Huri.

The Huri’s blunt features hardened with determination. He pulled his bowstring, and aimed his arrow at Joash. “Speak, or die.”

The threat of death cleared Joash’s thoughts. He turned, and held up his spear. “He’s from Captain Maharbal.”

Both warriors had a spear over their shoulders and a shield before him and his driver. Both warriors looked determined as they raced at the dark-haired Huri.

“Stop!” Joash shouted, running to put himself in front of Herrek’s chariot. “He’s from Captain Maharbal.”

Gens yanked the reins. Othniel’s driver did likewise. Joash repeated his message, and it seemed that finally Herrek understood. Soon, so did Othniel, although the twist to his lips belied any peaceful intentions.

The Huri lowered his black bow. But he warily eyed the Elonites as they approached until they were less than ten yards apart.

Othniel scanned the distance. From his actions, he seemed certain an ambush was being set.

“Who are you?” Herrek asked.

“I am Sungara. I am free-fighter for Captain Maharbal. I not need to tell you, therefore, my clan or tribe.”

Joash knew Huri were proud of their clans and tribes. Perhaps Sungara was an outlaw, or an outcast. That would explain how he’d become a free-fighter. One seldom found Huri in such a position. They loved their forests and their feuds, and they loved to raid.

“Why was a Huri sent?” Othniel spat. “Does Maharbal insult us?”

Sungara glared at Othniel.

“No,” Herrek said. He eyed the stocky free-fighter. Huri, above all else, were trackers and hunters of supreme skill. They could slip into a camp like a fox. Their prowess in such matters was legendary, and their dark deeds haunted many an Elonite home.

“Something bad has happened,” Herrek said.

Sungara grunted.

“Maharbal sent a Huri because he wanted someone who could travel without being seen,” Herrek said.

“You right, chariot-man. I bring bad tidings.”

“What’s your message?” Othniel snapped.

“Is there peace between us?”

Herrek glanced at Gens, then put his spear and shield away. Herrek stepped out of the chariot and advanced on the bow-armed Huri. “Yes, there is peace between us.”

“And him?” Sungara motioned his head at Othniel.

Othniel needed only half a second. “There is peace.”

Sungara grinned and put away his bow. He spat onto his wide palm and shook Herrek’s hand. Herrek towered above Sungara, although their shoulders were as wide, which made Sungara seem thicker. The Huri was like some crude and gnarled earth-spirit in human guise, very much a creature of foliage, dirt, and the hunt for survival. He made Herrek seem polished, over-civilized.

“Take me to Lord Uriah,” Sungara said. “I bring him message.”

“Tell it to me first,” Herrek said.

“Message is bad. Lord Uriah must hear.” When Herrek said nothing more, Sungara said, “Sit then. You must sit before I give message.”

The chariots were brought near and everyone sat, even the dogs, which obeyed Joash’s command. Sungara told them about the surprise attack upon Hori Cove. He left nothing out.

Joash shivered in horror. How many Elonites would he never see again? With his broken leg, had Nestor escaped? Joash’s throat burned and his eyes stung. A hollow feeling filled him, and along with the feeling came a terrible fear of the giants, sabertooths, and Tarag. They were being hunted. The terrible ordeal was anything but over. Joash looked at the warriors. Their faces were masks. They sat rigidly.

“Giant armor is enchanted,” Sungara somberly added. “I saw Elonite swords shatter on mail. I saw own arrow bounce harmlessly off, even though I shot at close range.”

Joash glanced at Sungara’s heavy black bow. In the past, he’d heard charioteers swear fearful oaths against Huri bows. They were fearsome weapons. Because the Huri were experts at ambushes, able to hide in mere clumps of grass, they often fired their heavy bows from close range. An arrow from such a bow could pierce a shield or chainmail. Joash found it incredible that the Huri hadn’t been able to pierce giant armor. Maybe Sungara had been farther away than he’d realized.

Othniel was nodding. “I’ve heard tales of giant armor and weapons. They say in the Far North, in a smithy hidden from the sun’s light, lies the Forge of Bolverk. He knows secrets hidden from our smiths, or even those of Caphtor. In this hidden smithy Bolverk forges the grim weapons and armor of giants. Even his father, Jotnar, is said to be amazed at Bolverk’s skills.”

“Their iron is enchanted,” Sungara said again. “Their shamans are mighty.”

“Maybe,” Herrek said stiffly. “What does Captain Maharbal plan?”

“You must flee to beach. All speed must be used. Make your horses sweat, kill them if need be, but flee. Captain Maharbal is certain giants and sabertooths will come for you next.”

Joash, who had heard all his life how superstitious the Huri were, was impressed with Sungara’s factual telling of the horrible tale.

“They are terrible foes. Not even your lances will slay them. You must flee with Sungara.”