David Tallerman - Crown Thief

Saltlick didn't pause at all this time. As he spoke the last words, in fact, I was certain I noticed a subtle change in his tone. He looked less confused, less intent on simply translating. He even held himself straighter.

Was that hope in his eyes once more?

Either way, we were almost there. All that was needed now was to come to the point. "Go now," I said. "Go where you're wanted, where you're needed. Forget the trials that brought you here. Forget the words of Moaradrid. Step forward. Be led back where you belong."

It was the longest — indeed, the only speech I'd ever given. Like a loud and distorted echo, Saltlick rumbled on in my wake, until he too finished speaking. I turned my gaze from him to our mutual audience, hardly daring to see what effect our words had had.

No one had moved.

Not one giant twitched so much as an eyelash.

They sat as they had since we'd first seen them, immobile as the land itself.

I'd failed. I'd won Saltlick's trust for nothing. And no wonder! It had been a ludicrous idea from the beginning. If Saltlick hadn't been able to move his people in all this time, how could I think anything I said would make a difference? It was horrible to admit, but Alvantes had been right. What was the crown to the giants? What did they care about Castovalian traditions? As if a king meant anything to them!

One giant stood, stepped forward.

He was young; younger, I thought, than Saltlick, and smaller than most of the others. He looked sheepish, and perhaps a little defiant too.

There was the longest pause. Just as I was wondering what possible use a single convert could be, two more giants stepped forward to join him.

The next pause was shorter. Half a dozen giants clambered to their feet, wincing at muscles stiffened by disuse, and moved to join their companions.

After that, it was a steady stream. Once more than half the giants had declared their allegiance, the rest fairly bounded up, as though released from under a weight that had pinned them all this time.

The old chief was the last to step forward. But he did.

It was as if a spell had been broken. Perhaps in a way it had. Moaradrid had subdued the giants with chains more sturdy than any iron — bonds of ritual, loyalty and guilt. Now, it was as though they were waking from an ages-long sleep, or transforming from stone back into living things. I turned my attention to Saltlick. He was staring, jaw slack, eyes glazed, as if mesmerised by the crowd before him.

There was no time for niceties. I punched him on the thigh.

He glanced at me with vague surprise. A single fat tear was working its way down his cheek, apparently unnoticed.

"Get them moving," I said. "Now. Before they change their minds. We'll head for Altapasaeda and work from there."

The tear lost its purchase, splashed into the grass between us. Saltlick, too, seemed to waken. "Damasco," he said, softly. "Friend to giants."

I slapped him on the knee. "Damn right. The best friend you've got, and don't ever forget it. Now get going! I'll follow in a minute."

Saltlick nodded. Then he called three words in giantish and started towards the road. My heart lurched when the other giants fell in behind him, one by one. Watching them go, I couldn't but note how painfully thin they still were, how they laboured against limbs rigid from neglect. They had a long way to go yet. Nevertheless, in that moment, watching that stream of monstrous figures wade across the landscape, I felt happier than I could ever remember feeling.

Eventually, I had to turn away. There was one more loose end to tie before I could leave this tragedystained hillside behind.

I started towards Alvantes, where he was still minding the horses near the riverbank. I was halfway there when Huero caught up with me. He was flushed with excitement, and his voice fairly bubbled as he said, "We have a new king, eh?"

"I'm not sure it's entirely constitutional," I said. "Still, it couldn't hurt if you all keep playing along a little longer."

"I think we can manage that."

"Good. Do you think you could feed them on the march? I think it's better if they put this place behind them as soon as possible."

"Absolutely. You're coming with us though?"

"I'll catch you up."

I bid Huero farewell and covered the last distance to where Alvantes stood. Glancing up, he waved his hand dismissively, as though dashing away an insect. "Come to gloat? So keep the crown, Damasco. It's no business of mine if you want to make a mockery of everything it stands for."

"If it gets the giants home, that's more good than it's done anyone lately. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Oh?"

Steeling myself, I reached into my pack, drew forth the thing I'd been keeping there for so long now, almost forgotten alongside its other more precious cargo, and proffered it to him. "I seem to remember you saying your father gave you this. He probably wouldn't have wanted you to lose it."

It was a moment before Alvantes recognised the telescope for what it was. "How did you…? No, of course. You stole it when you stole the crown. Am I supposed to thank you?"

Given how difficult I'd found giving it up, given how rare and correspondingly valuable it was, I had to bite my tongue to keep down the obvious, honest answer. Because there was something else I needed to say, or that I thought Alvantes had to hear, or perhaps both. "Look, I know we're not friends. We never will be, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But how your father died… that was a terrible thing, Alvantes. I'm sorry it happened."

He focused on me properly then, for the first time. "A terrible thing? You talk as if it was an accident."

"No. It was a vicious murder."

"It was a punishment. And it was my fault."

Only then did I realise that, on some level, I'd known all along that was how he felt. Of course he would blame himself. He was Alvantes. "It really wasn't," I told him. "It was the King's fault, and it was the fault of those bastards Stick and Stone. But it wasn't yours. You did what you thought was right — just like your father did. And even if he'd known what was coming, I expect he'd have done the same. From what I saw of him, you two were a lot alike."

"He probably would have, at that. Stubborn old man."

Despite the words, and for the first time since we'd left Pasaeda, there was no harshness in Alvantes's voice. I could only hope that meant he was ready to hear what else I had to say.

"Here's the thing, though, Alvantes. Terrible as it was, that doesn't mean you're allowed to quit."

His head jarred up, as though I'd slapped him. "Is that really what you think I've done?"

What surprised me wasn't the response but the note of genuine questioning in his voice. "I'm not sure," I said. "Is it?"

Alvantes looked away. "Honestly? I'm not sure either."

"Well, maybe you should give it some thought. Come with us to Muena Palaiya; see how Estrada's getting on. Then maybe we can see if there's anything we can do about that slug Mounteban."

"I'm done pretending to be a hero," he declared, with sudden vehemence.

"Is that what you've been doing? You certainly fooled enough people."

"I'll come with you to Altapasaeda," Alvantes said. "I have to know Marina's safe."

"Fine. Let's saddle up then. There's a flock of giants near here that could do with a couple more shepherds."

We must have made a truly astonishing sight.

From where I rode at the centre of the convoy, the parade of giants seemed to stretch from horizon to horizon. Like an honour guard, the villagers trooped to either side. A few rode in pony and ox carts, some on horses or donkeys; most had no choice but to keep the pace on foot.

As the day drew towards its midpoint, the villagers trailed off in clumps, heading back to their homes and fields. Their reactions to the giants' departure seemed to range between relief and mild sadness. A few of the women were even mopping at their eyes as they waved goodbye. It cheered me to see that a few of the giants waved shyly back.