“Yes! Yes!” the giant cried.
“Lucky you.” Arion got up and carefully stepped through the carnage. Finding the hat Padera had made, she reached down and withdrew it, sighing at the dirt and leaves covering the garment.
“Let me live,” the giant begged. “I yield. You win. I’ll quit.”
“Quit what exactly?” Arion asked.
The giant hesitated.
Arion looked up from her hat with an irritated frown, and the giant began to slip deeper, the soil now up to his chin.
“Trying to kill you! Trying to kill you. We were sent to kill you!”
Arion nodded as she brushed the dirt and leaves from the hat. Then she stopped, looked up puzzled, and glared at the giant again. “What do you mean—we?”
—
The thick-beamed brace snapped in half, and the front gate of Dahl Rhen burst open. Over the last few months, Gifford had seen many strange things enter through them—the dead body of a chieftain and before that his son; three groups of Fhrey, two of which had held a magical battle before the lodge’s steps; and Raithe, the famed God Killer. Gifford imagined he’d seen it all, but standing outside the storage pit in the wreckage left by the storm, he realized he was wrong. What entered that afternoon was a sight beyond his imagination; or more accurately, it was a sight that should only exist there.
Giants. A lot of them.
Everyone knew they existed, just as everyone knew gods, witches, goblins, and crimbals did. Dahl Rhen had even played host to one, but Grygor, who had accompanied the first set of Fhrey, turned out to be a pleasant sort. He enjoyed cooking and kept mostly to himself. These were different: angry and ferocious. They were also bigger, much bigger, wearing kilts and vests poorly stitched from the hides of numerous beasts of different species.
Taller than the gate, they had to duck to pass under the parapet. Their feet were the size of Gifford’s bed, and they carried wooden mallets that looked to have been fashioned by shoving a thick branch through a hole in a tree trunk. In total, there were twelve, and they broke through the gate with bared teeth and wild eyes. Rushing in, the giants swung their mallets, smashing the already ruined piles of thatch and fractured logs. They hammered the wind-strewn rubble and crushed a goat that had survived the storm but had made the mistake of not running. A few took the time to lift the thatch and peer underneath, then one looked Gifford’s way.
Much of the surviving citizenry of Dahl Rhen was still in the pit. Those outside, like Gifford and Roan, watched as one of the giants howled with excitement, pointing directly at them. The other eleven turned, and the ground shook as the group hurried forward. Having seen what had happened to the goat, nearly everyone cried out and retreated in terror.
Roan didn’t. She stood her ground, watching in awe.
From behind, the Fhrey warriors charged out of the pit, weapons drawn, too impatient to wait the few seconds for the giants to close the distance. The first to land a blow was the one called Eres, who threw two javelins. One pierced the throat of the nearest giant, which Gifford believed to be a female Grenmorian, as she had breasts and a shorter beard.
The other javelin caught one of the larger attackers in the eye, driving itself so deep that only the rear portion poked out of the socket. The giant staggered, then collapsed face-first into the remains of the lodge, flipping a log into the air and shaking the ground so violently that Gifford had to take a step to keep his balance.
Sebek, the Fhrey with short blond hair and a pair of swords, ran directly into the pack of invaders. He sprinted past the first two, and Gifford couldn’t understand why until he realized that the Galantian had picked out the biggest for his target. Sebek reached his prey, ran between the giant’s legs, and drove a sword into the middle of each foot. The giant howled a long deep note of rage and pain, which grew louder as he tilted forward and struggled to free his feet from the ground. The blades dislodged but not before the giant lost his balance. Once more Gifford staggered and nearly fell when the giant crashed to the dirt. Fast as a rabbit, Sebek retrieved his weapons and sprinted up the giant’s stomach. He leapt across the invader’s chest and stabbed both blades into his neck.
Anwir was the next Galantian to land a strike. Pulling forth a loaded sling, he swung it in circles over his head and unleashed the stone. The rock staggered a medium-sized giant just as Tekchin reached him with his long, narrow blade. After severing three fingers of the giant’s mallet-like hand, Tekchin stabbed the giant’s chest, cutting a semicircle before withdrawing the sword.
Roan took a step forward. She had that familiar single-minded curiosity in her eyes, a sort of blind fascination that was impossible for Gifford to understand. Once, she’d broken an ankle after falling into Crescent Creek while preoccupied by a butterfly. Gifford didn’t know what had caught her eye this time, but in a battle between Fhrey and giants, it hardly mattered. If she wandered too far, if she tried to get ahead of Nyphron, who’d taken up a position between the giants and the people of Dhal Rhen to act as a final bulwark, Gifford would take hold of her wrist as he’d done with Brin. Yes, she would panic and lash out, but he’d gladly endure the pain inflicted by her reaction if it was the only way to keep her safe.
He reached out but stopped when, to his relief, she didn’t move any farther. Roan wasn’t interested in the giants; she was shifting her gaze between Anwir and Eres, staring with intensity as Anwir wound up another stone and Eres launched another javelin. She muttered softly, “There’s always a better way.”
To Gifford’s surprise, Grygor joined the other Galantians in the fight against his brethren. Grygor didn’t appear to care about their kinship as he raised his huge sword and hewed down a slightly larger giant with a single stroke.
Vorath, the only Fhrey who had a beard—which he’d grown in the style of the Rhunes—advanced with a three-spiked ball on a chain in one hand and a star-shaped mace in the other. He waded into the fray, a whirling cyclone of whipping metal. The giants appeared confused by his weapons until Vorath solved the riddle by crushing knees and then skulls.
With a shout, which may have been a command that Gifford didn’t understand, the giants retreated, dragging their fallen with them. The Fhrey didn’t pursue or interfere, even when one giant strode toward the well to reclaim the body of his comrade, which was just a few yards from where Sebek stood.
As the giants fled, Gifford noticed other dahl residents who hadn’t reached the storage pit but had survived the storm. Old man Mathias Hagger stood near the waste holes behind what used to be the lodge, sodden with muck. Arlina and Gilroy, their three boys, and daughter, Maureen, were clustered around the grindstone where the millhouse once stood. Arlina’s face was covered in blood, but otherwise she looked fine. Many more weren’t as lucky. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Feet and arms protruded from under wreckage. The battle was over, but the toll had yet to be tallied.
CHAPTER THREE
The Circle of Fire
I will never forget the day my parents died. I was a child of fifteen, and my world had been destroyed. Then Persephone led us away from what had been our home, and I was not a child anymore.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
Arion lay on her back, eyes closed, in a small area cleared of debris inside the walls of Dahl Rhen. When a shadow covered her face, she was reluctant to open her lids. Her head was still throbbing, the pain unbearable.