Troy Denning: The Giant Among Us

“Then see me outside.” The runecaster started to crawl forward.

Avner planted both his palms on Basil’s crooked nose and pushed, forcing the astonished verbeeg back into his gloomy chamber. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere,” Basil answered. He peered past the boy’s shoulder, his baggy eyes wild with desperation. “Anyplace is better than this.”

Avner glanced around the room. Although the earl’s men had removed the furniture to make room for the verbeeg, they had been kind enough leave an oil lamp and throw several straw mattresses across a sturdy table to make a bed. There was even a barred window overlooking the inner ward, its shutters thrown wide open despite the cold predawn breeze.

“This isn’t so bad, especially considering you’ll end up in the dungeon if you try to leave,” Avner said. “The castle’s crawling with soldiers, and they’d spot someone your size in a minute. It was tough enough to get this back.” The youth reached around the corner and retrieved Basil’s satchel. “Besides, where do you think you could go? Into the hills with the giants?”

“Perhaps,” Basil replied. “Or maybe I could hide in the library.”

“That’s the first place they’d look,” Avner said. He pointed to the makeshift bed beneath the window. “Besides, how long has it been since you had something that comfortable to sleep on?”

“How can a prisoner sleep?” Basil demanded. “While I languish here, life outside is passing me by.”

Avner rolled his eyes. “I’ve spent weeks in pits slimier and darker than this. You haven’t been here one night” He took his picks from the lock, then pushed the door closed. “What kind of thief is afraid of jail?”

“One should not be punished for acting in accordance with the principles of one’s race,” the runecaster replied. “And if you’re not here to free me, what do you want? At this hour of the morning, I doubt you’ve come to pass the time.”

“We’ve got to do something about Arlien.” Avner went to sit on the table, dragging Basil’s huge satchel with him. “The prince is coming between Tavis and Brianna.”

Basil sank to his haunches and sat facing the youth. “What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Avner opened the satchel and removed half a dozen apples he had taken from the earl’s kitchen. He kept one for himself and tossed the rest to Basil. “The good prince came to marry her.”

“I realize that,” the runecaster replied. “But I fail to see what we can do about it.”

Basil slipped an apple into his mouth. He crushed it with a single chomp and swallowed it, stem, core, and all.

“We’ll do whatever it takes to prevent a marriage.” Avner bit into his own apple.

Basil raised his bushy eyebrows. “Assassinate the prince?”

Avner sighed in exasperation. “I was hoping we could think of something less drastic. I’m not trying to start a war.”

Basil popped another apple into his mouth and gnashed it slowly. “Runes of the heart are hardly my area of expertise,” he said. “But I do have a trick or two that might help our cause-perhaps a rune of stammering or foul odors.”

“Good!” Avner said. “The prince can’t court Brianna if he smells bad-but it’ll have to be subtle. We don’t want the queen to realize what we’re doing.”

“Of course not,” Basil agreed. He glanced forlornly around the room, studying the gloomy stone walls. “But the rune requires modification, and I can’t concentrate here.”

“What are you saying?” Avner demanded. “This chamber’s not much smaller than your study at Castle Hartwick, and you stay in there for days!”

Basil’s eyes lit up. “Yes, but I have my books,” he said. “Perhaps, if I had something to occupy my attention, this dreary room would seem more like a proper office.”

Avner shook his head. “Not on my life!” he said. “Filching your satchel and a few apples is one thing, but if Earl Cuthbert catches me with his folios, he’ll feed us both to the giants!”

Basil’s gray eyes grew as hard as the stones of his cell. “Then I hope you enjoy weddings.”

Avner tore a big piece from his apple. He gnawed on this for a time, then said, “Just one, and I take it back as soon as you’re done.”

“Very well. Even I can read only one book at a time.” A treacherous gleam appeared in Basil’s eye, then he added, “Of course, the magic of my rune might last longer if I had no fear of growing bored.”

“All right,” Avner growled. “How often do I have to bring you a new book?”

“We’ll set up a signal.” Basil thought for a moment, then said, “It’ll be best if you can see it from a distance. I’ll close my shutters whenever I’m ready.”

“Fine.” Avner slipped off the table. “I hope I know what I’m getting myself into.”

The youth stepped to the window and threw his apple core out into the gray glow of first light.

The stomping had ended some time earlier, pattering into silence after an unexpected crescendo. That had been exactly a thousand breaths ago-Tavis had counted each one, lacking any other way to tell time-and now it was time to go. The scout checked to make sure his sword, quiver, and shoulder satchel were secure, then grabbed the counterweight chain and pulled.

An ear-piercing squeal, almost deafening after the long silence, echoed off the stone walls. The counterweight seemed to stick for a moment, then a loud crack sounded from the threshold as the door broke free. The granite slab began to rise, grudgingly, and a low, grinding growl joined the cacophony of rattling chains. A sliver of gray light appeared on the tunnel floor and slowly spread down the passageway.

Tavis cursed. Although the rays were not bright, he knew what they meant: dawn was coming, and soon. He forced himself to look into the light so his eyes would grow accustomed to it and pulled harder. The door rose another foot.

A gentle tremor shuddered through the tunnel, then another and another: giants searching for the source of the mysterious sounds. More steps joined the first, but none seemed to be growing any louder. That would change quickly enough, Tavis knew. Soon his foes would overcome their initial confusion and track down the source of the clamor.

The scout stopped pulling on the chains and heard the gruff, terse grunts of shouting hill giants. Although the voices were too muffled to understand, they sounded much closer than Tavis would have liked. He gave the chain another long pull, then abruptly stopped. A trio of giants began shouting contradictory commands, confused by the sporadic noise.

Tavis eyed the gap between the door and threshold, finding about three feet of gray light. That was enough space for him to squeeze through, but he feared the granite slab would slide down the instant he released it. The scout pulled again, paused a short time, then gave the chain another tug. The door rose to a height of six feet, and now he could hear the giants clearly.

“Where Gragg hear that sound?”

“Gone ’gain,” answered another muffled voice. “But gots to be over there somewhere. Be quiet.”

The tunnel stopped shuddering as the giants moved more carefully. The scout could picture them stalking through the predawn light in the typical posture of hunting hill giants: hunched over almost double, tree trunks resting across their stooped shoulders, their dull eyes fixed on the ground with their thick brows screwed into a crumpled parody of concentration. They were hardly as stealthy as fog giants, but they would move with surprising grace for such ungainly beings, their knees bent and their legs flexed. If the need arose, they could spring over the land in great, bounding strides, the impact of each crashing footfall bouncing their terrified quarry off the ground. Tavis did not look forward to becoming their prey, but the prospect of reporting his failure to Brianna was even less appealing.