Troy Denning: The Giant Among Us

“Good. Let him.” Tavis retained his grip.

The stranger’s feet slipped, and he would have fallen had the scout’s grasp not been so secure. “How dare you!” the man blustered. He regained his balance and slowly turned around. “Do you know who I …?”

The warrior found himself craning his neck to look into Tavis’s eyes, and he let his sentence trail off. He looked the scout up and down, his mouth gaping open.

“No, I don’t know who you are,” Tavis replied. He raised his open hand in the traditional sign of friendship. “But I’m Tavis Burdun.”

The man’s astonished expression did not change, and he showed no sign of recognizing the scout’s name. “You’re a firbolg!” he sputtered.

The scout nodded, surprised it had taken the stranger so long to notice that obvious fact. As giant-kin, firbolgs were larger and more thick-boned than humans. Although Tavis was a runt by his race’s standards-standing only eight feet to the normal ten or twelve-he was still big enough that his ancestry should have been obvious. “Does my race bother you, sir?”

The warrior shook his head. “Of course not. I was merely surprised that I hadn’t noticed before.” Remembering his manners, the stranger raised his hand in greeting, then cringed at the pain this caused him. “You may call me Arlien, my friend. Now, I really must go if I’m going to catch that giant”

He turned to leave, but Tavis caught him by the arm.

“What’s so important about killing that giant?” the firbolg demanded. The Company of the Winter Wolf was now so close that Tavis could hear Selwyn’s men calling through the fog as they struggled to maintain formation. “Is it worth the risk that you’ll be the one who dies?”

Arlien rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tavis,” he said, “ I won’t get killed.”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead already.” The firbolg pointed to the man’s mangled armor. “And you still haven’t answered my question. What’s so important about killing that giant?”

The warrior regarded Tavis as though he were daft “I should think that’s obvious,” he said. “The churl assaulted me!”

It was Tavis’s turn to roll his eyes. “That’s a reason?”

“It seems sufficient to me,” Arlien retorted.

“Perhaps under different circumstances,” the firbolg allowed. “But as it is, you can’t go.”

“I can’t go?” Arlien fumed. “And just how do you propose to stop me?”

“I’m quite sure Tavis would find a way,” said Brianna. “He’s a most resourceful bodyguard.”

The firbolg turned, then uttered a silent curse as he saw the queen quietly slipping out of the fog-well ahead of the soldiers assigned to protect her. She was extremely tall for a human, with a frame as sturdy as a man’s and a height just a few inches shy of seven feet. From what Tavis gathered, most men did not consider her beautiful, but to him she was the picture of elegance. She had a striking face, with clear skin, a dimpled chin, and sparkling violet eyes. Her long tresses were as fine as spider silk and more yellow than gold, while she had a lithe figure with long, graceful limbs and gentle curves.

Brianna stepped to Tavis’s side and began to look him over. “I heard your runearrow explode,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“Thank you, milady. I’m well.” The firbolg addressed her in his best formal tone. Although Brianna’s attempts to conceal the romance between them were fast becoming a joke among her courtiers and earls, Tavis had learned enough about politics to know he should not flaunt their relationship before a foreigner. The scout reached over and gently turned Arlien so that Brianna could see the gaping wound in his side. “It’s our new friend who needs your services.”

Brianna’s eyes widened at the sight of the injury, and she stepped to Arlien’s side. “You shouldn’t be standing,” she said. “Lie down.”

“That’s not necessary, Lady,” Arlien protested. “I’ll be-”

“Dead, if you don’t let me heal this,” Brianna snapped. She scooped the warrior into her arms and lifted him off the ground, plate armor and all. “Clear a place for him, Tavis.”

As the firbolg began tossing stones aside, he could not help smiling at the dumbfounded expression on Arlien’s face. Lifting a fully armored warrior was ordinarily well beyond a human woman’s capabilities, but Brianna could hardly be considered ordinary. She had inherited the extraordinary strength of her Hartwick ancestors, and could easily have matched any firbolg in a contest of might. Tavis had even seen her father defeat hill giants in such competitions, and some claimed that the first Hartwick king had bested storm giants.

All this was lost on Arlien, who finally recovered his wits and resumed his protests. “Put me down, Lady!”

“Very well, but you will let me heal you!” Brianna replied. “This wound is more serious than you realize.”

A sheepish look came over Arlien’s face as the queen returned him to the ground. “Dear lady, I thank you for your kind offer, but I assure you it isn’t necessary,” he said. “My armor will heal both my body and its rents within a few days’ time, but you mustn’t interfere. The enchantment will vanish.”

Brianna’s cheeks colored. “Enchanted, you say?” She bit her lip, then demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Arlien’s face darkened, but he managed to force a rather insincere smile. “I was trying,” he said in a controlled voice. “However, in your kindly haste to look after my health, you neglected to give me the opportunity.”

Brianna’s smile turned to ice. “Well, I’m glad to see you survived.” She removed a clean bandage from her shoulder satchel and passed it to the warrior. “I hope that a simple dressing will not affect your armor’s magic. I really have very little desire to stare at your gruesome wounds.”

“That is a relief, Milady.” Arlien accepted the cloth, then turned away as he pressed it over the gash in his side. “I was beginning to think you rather enjoyed it”

Captain Selwyn arrived with the first soldiers of his scattered company, bringing the argument to a temporary halt Tavis ordered the commander to have his men surround the area at a distance of fifty paces.

Brianna watched the Winter Wolves clang off to their posts, then fixed her coldest glare on Arlien. “By the way, what brings you to our kingdom? Cuthbert Fief is hardly the route most travelers choose to enter Hartsvale.”

Arlien’s eyes grew as hard as Brianna’s. “My visit is not your concern, dear lady,” he said. “But I will say this much: Your fief is in terrible peril. I’m sorry to report that standing before you is the sole survivor of a large caravan. A hundred of my fellows were massacred not far from here, by a tribe of more than two hundred frost giants.”

“Frost giants!” Tavis exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

Arlien’s only response was a condescending glance.

“Where did this happen?” Brianna demanded.

Arlien pointed toward the fog-shrouded pastures, which the scout knew from past visits lay beneath a craggy wall of ice-sheathed peaks. “On the other side of those mountains,” he said. “Not three days ago.”

“And what of the fog giants?” Tavis inquired. “Where did they come from?”

Arlien shrugged. “I suppose from the cold mists beneath the Endless Ice Sea, like all their kind,” he said. “As to what they’re doing here, I can’t say. They were in the village when I arrived.”

Brianna cocked her brow and looked to Tavis. “What are we to make of this?”

The scout narrowed his eyes. “No good,” he replied. “Three different tribes of giants do not converge on the same fief by accident. I suggest we return to Cuthbert Castle and warn the earl to prepare for a siege.”