Chapter Two: The Giants
Far away in the east in the land of Rian, the city of Rii awoke to a new morning. Built in a great valley by the sea, the modest city owed much of its beauty to the mountains that surrounded it, glistening with icy peaks in the north where Gammod-Dhol lies, and rising high in the south to bar the armies of Mor from marching forth. Being precariously placed between two fierce powers, it was a quiet city between the mountains. Caught between Mor with its tales of sorcery and Gammod-Dhol with its schemes for power, the city stood in stark contrast, a pleasant spot on the eastern continent that sought no attention from its neighbors. In these days of conflict it remained a neutral territory where neither the powers of the west nor the lords of Mor had established a firm hold, but all knew its true allegiance was with Abernaeth and his knights across the sea who kept a constant presence in Rian. Ostensibly, the men of the west came to trade wood and other goods, but the war ships that often accompanied them suggested some other purpose. While Mor could not ignore this, there was no urgency to challenge this western occupation, particularly when wood was in short supply in Mor, and with their soldiers busy in other parts the dark lords could scarcely spare troops for a skirmish in Rian, which they for the moment deemed a land of little consequence. Rian existed, therefore, in a pleasant limbo between east and west, a land thus far exempt from the ravages of war. But no land that borders Mor can know true peace, for the unspoken threat of sorcery hung over the mountains in a grey fog that curled with menace. Yet the citizens carried themselves with cheer and their steps were light as they moved without worry down the avenues and took up the chores of the day. They gathered in the main square, strolling along paved streets and riding in carriages, a din of merry voices and clattering hooves that filled the crisp air. It might have been a day like any other, a peaceful summer morning that passed without incident, but toward noon a strange occurrence interrupted the usual course of things. A rush of water flowed into the city. It ran thinly down the streets, spilling into alleys and bending round corners, a glistening, undulating flow that spread quickly. At first people walked across the sparkling wet blanket with little concern, believing a high tide had spilled from the harbor, but a short while later there was some confusion as the water level began to rise and the people who had casually plodded through the dampened streets now found themselves scrambling for higher ground as they sloshed ankle deep in a rushing river that ran through every part of their city. Suddenly, a group of sailors came splashing into the square, shouting as they ran. "Run for your lives!" cried the leader. "It's the end of the world!" yelled another. Startled, people turned away from what they were doing and watched the sailors scramble down the flooded street, screaming like mad men. "Run, fools! Get out of the streets!" the leader implored as he swept by a mother and daughter, snatching up the child as he passed. "He took my daughter!" the mother cried, chasing the man. At once, the crowd of onlookers became an angry mob that surged forward to seize the abductor, armed with brooms and riding crops, ready to oust the brutes. Then, almost as quickly as it had been formed the makeshift militia dissolved into fear and confusion as people turned away from the sailors and ran back to the taverns and inns, desperate to escape the coming catastrophe. And then all cries were lost in the roar of a tidal wave that fell on the square with a thundering crash. The mass of water foamed and swelled over buildings for some moments, heaving and churning, washing everything away, people and carriages and horses, all were swept up by the unrelenting force and carried off in a swirl of movement. But the tide fell quickly downhill, leaving the city covered with four feet of water when it had calmed. There was little activity in the flooded streets, but occasionally someone was spotted amidst the debris; a vendor in pursuit of his goods, chasing his drifting wares down the watery channels of the city, or some hapless citizen floating by on a door or table. Inside the buildings people were busy moving their belongings to higher floors, gathering documents and paintings, dragging boxes of books up stairs, collecting anything that could be salvaged. The terror of the tide had passed and a certain cheer returned to the city as men and women worked to restore the peace and order of their quiet city between the mountains. In one of the inns, however, a group of sailors told a grim tale that raised some questions about the nature of the flood. They spoke to a curious crowd that gathered on the second floor as people came up the stair with crates and barrels and all kinds of possessions. "The sea was calm this morning. There was no hint of tide," said the leader. "We were unloading ships at the pier until noon. Then the water stirred suddenly." "No one could have predicted it," an older man added. The leader darted a glance at the man who mumbled something to himself and fell silent. "It was not a great tide, but something agitated the sea so that ships tossed in the harbor and we were splashed on the pier," the leader continued. "We searched the horizon, thinking that a large galley approached, but there was nothing for miles." "Not a ship in sight," the older one echoed as he stepped toward a barrel of ale. The leader paused to regard the man as he filled a glass. He shook his head and returned his attention to the crowd. "The sea churned for a long while and we hurried to secure the ships, believing a storm was upon us. But no clouds stirred in the sky and no winds blew. We waited for some time, still looking for ships, but none appeared." He paused to glance out the window as a man rode a horse down the flooded square. "We could not have guessed what was coming." "The end of days," the old one said raising his glass. "Be silent," the leader demanded. "We watched the sea for some time," he resumed, hoping to quell the murmur that had risen in the crowd. "And then at last we saw something. In the distance four tall ships came out of the north, or so it seemed, for they were still too far away to judge clearly. We kept them in sight and soon spotted more ships on the horizon, the tallest ships we had ever seen." "War ships?" a man asked. "Are we under attack? Should we prepare a defense." The old man spilled his drink as he laughed. "Yes, prepare a defense for the end of all things." The leader glanced at his sailors and two of them quickly engaged the old man to stifle his outbursts, then he turned to the crowd again. "No war ships come." "What kind of ships are they?" someone asked. "There are no ships," the leader said grimly. "What is it then?" The leader hesitated a moment. "Giants," he said at last. The crowd gasped. "The things that come are giants," the leader said raising his voice above the din of confusion. "They come from the north. We counted twelve of them, but only four come this way. The others turned west." "Are you sure they are giants," a man wondered. "Perhaps you saw a fleet of great ships carved with figures at the prow." The man stepped forward and was about to speak again, but then he met the leader's stern gaze and stood very still, as if he stared at a lion and feared any movement might provoke an attack. "If ships come these are the first ships I have seen that stride with limbs resembling legs and carry great axes with limbs resembling arms." The man took a backward step and said no more. "I am sure they are giants," the leader said sardonically. "They carry axes?" a woman said with fright. "Yes, great axes to sunder the earth!" the old man declared. "They will cleave us all with their axes! None will be spared! The world comes to its end!" The elderly drunkard was shouting of all the terrors that were coming, unwavering in his effort to warn the citizenry of impending doom, pausing only to wet his hoarse throat with drinks his companions generously provided in a manner they were not unused to. "We must not despair," the leader addressed the crowd. "These beings have no quarrel with us. We should not assume they mean us harm." "Are you mad!" exclaimed a young man. "They have already harmed us by flooding the city!" "They are giants walking the earth," replied the leader. "They move the oceans of the world with a casual step, but there is no malice in their stride. With greater movement they could easily stir the sea so that a larger tide would take the city and drown us all." "Why do they bring axes?" the young one responded. "Why do they carry weapons if they mean us no harm?" "Who travels abroad without arms?" the leader replied. "Will you sail into the north with only the clothes you wear?" "Why do they attack us?" the young man insisted. "We do not know if they attack." The leader was losing his patience with the impertinent youth who seemed eager to assume the worst. Some others in the crowd were nodding their heads in agreement with the young man, and the leader, whose years at sea had taught him the moods of men can change as swiftly as the tide, acted quickly to allay their rising fears. "There has been no attack," he said above the commotion. "We do not know why these giants are coming, we know only that they come." "With axes," the young man added. "Only four come this way," the leader explained, ignoring the outburst. "I expect they would marshal their full strength against us if they meant to attack." "You expect?" the young man scoffed. "What is to be expected from giants? I expect they will tear our fair city apart with their axes and crush us underfoot like ants." "Yes, lad, the end of days is upon us!" the old man concurred, chiming in to the chorus of despair between sips of ale. "Only four come this way," the leader repeated calmly. "They do not come to attack." "Only four?" the young man persisted. "Could not one of them destroy our city?" "They could have destroyed it already with a greater flood," the leader replied. "But they move slowly, as if they do not wish to agitate the sea." "A river runs through the square!" the youth said with defiance. "The sea has been agitated!" "Not nearly as much as it could have been. With a mere swipe of an axe they could send more crashing waves upon us. But they do not." The young man shook his head, unwilling to accept the giants as anything other than a dire threat. "Why do only four come this way," the leader challenged. "The others go to conquer the west," the youth replied. There were gasps from the crowd, and sensing he had gained some ground in the debate, the young man wasted no time seizing the moment. "The giants begin their assault on the lands of men," he declared. "They move south and west to attack all our settlements at once." A panic was rising. "We must not make hasty conclusions," a man said, attempting to calm the group. "No, the boy is right," the old man said. He gulped another drink and weaved his way through the crowd to speak, and though he stumbled a bit, his tone and manner were, at the moment, surprisingly sober. "He is right. The giants have come to destroy us, they will destroy it all. But they are not waging a war with us." His mates tried to goad him back to the corner where they had been entertaining him with drinks, but he waved them off like flies. "Away! I will not be silenced! The people must know what comes!" Watching the scuffle, the leader signaled his men to let him speak. The crowd was already frightened enough and did not need to witness a group of sailors bullying an old man. He knew what the old man would tell them and accepted that it might stir greater panic, yet he was thankful that attention had been drawn away from the outspoken youth whose indignant appeals were an offense to the senses. "The giants are not warring with men," the old man explained. "They are cleansing the earth." He paused a moment with arms stretched, gaining his balance, and more than a few people turned away from the drunkard. "Listen to me, you must listen," he demanded. His voice was hoarse and his breath reeked of ale, but there was something in his tone, an urgency his slurred speech could not diminish, that gathered a curious throng around him. "The giants come to cleanse the earth," he repeated. "Cleanse it of what?" someone asked. "Of men," replied the old sailor. The crowd fell silent. "And trees and grass and rivers, all things will be cleansed away from the earth. Even the mountains will be no more. All things come to their end." "Why are the giants attacking the world?" The old man shook his head. "They are not attacking. They are clearing a path." "A path for what?" The sailor paused and a grim smile crossed his face. "For a new age." People looked at the man with eyes wide, stunned and confused. They might have discarded his claims as the foolish talk of a drunk seaman, but he had intrigued them and they gathered closer to hear more. Receiving their attention with a nod, the old man steadied himself and began his tale. "Long ago, before men sailed the seas, before oceans even covered the earth, the Jhorim dwelt here, a race of giants that lived somewhere beyond the mists at the edge of the world, existing outside the boundaries of our natural order, outside time itself. The earth that we know did not exist yet, had not even begun to exist. There were no continents or islands, one great mass of land covered all the earth. No other beings inhabited the world at that time. There was only the sun and the Jhorim. "They were great beings, strong and full of magic, and the wonders they worked have not left the world, mysteries of air and fire and sea, all come from the Jhorim. With their strength they clove their axes into the earth and loosed the waters that now cover the world. Their great magic created the mountains and trees and every blade of grass that stirs on the ground. They created many things in that age before time, strange and wondrous things, but there was one creation that would change everything, one creation that would stain all the others. One of the young giants, Omnu, played with fire and with his magic mixed the flame with the mud of the earth, and behold, the dragon was made!" "A dragon!" a boy said excited. The old sailor smiled at the lad. "Yes, Uhernom, first and greatest of all dragons. The dragon was made and there was terror upon the earth, for its wings covered the sun and the world was suddenly cold. The trees were dying, every wonder of the earth was fading under the shadow of the beast, and the ice that was formed in that dark time still glistens on the mountains. "The Jhorim took up their axes and chased the creature across the world, and there were many battles that changed the earth as the beast breathed its flames and the giants swung their axes, sundering the land into many islands. The dragon was a fierce creature with flesh harder than stone, but it was pierced at last when Onur, the mightiest of the Jhorim, dealt a blow of such strength that the very fabric of existence, the ether that surrounds and creates our physical world, was cloven in two, and the earth was severed from eternity and cast into the mortal age as the doom of time began its course. "The dragon fell from the sky and from its great wound a foul blood poured on the land and the blood slithered and writhed and shaped itself into a form, and behold, the nom was made! A being not unlike the Jhorim, with arms and legs, but much smaller in size. The nom was a strange being that killed some animals for its amusement and set fires in the woodland. The Jhorim wanted to banish the nom from the earth, but Omnu loved the creature that had come from the blood of his dragon and tried to think of a way to soften and tame the nom. He gathered more blood from the dragon and with his magic made another nom, a delicate, feminine nom, and behold, the nomow was made! "The nom and the nomow spawned many offspring that inhabited every corner of the earth, but they were not peaceful beings. They warred and slew each other like mad beasts and the Jhorim almost annihilated them, but Omnu still loved his strange, mischievous race and begged Onur to spare them. Onur looked with favor on Omnu and agreed to spare the dragon-spawned race, allowing them to live on the earth for a time, but they must change their foul ways or be destroyed when that age came to its end." The old man coughed and took a drink. All eyes were upon him and there was not even a whisper to disturb the silence that had fallen in the room. The sailor smiled to himself and finished his tale. "The Jhorim went back into the mists at the edge of the world, leaving the nom in the sundered lands where the seasons changed with mortal time, and the nom passed the days breeding and killing, bringing strife to all parts of the earth and dividing into many estranged clans that spoke in different tongues. In later years the beings were called monn," The sailor paused, adding a dramatic beat for the finale. "And later still they were called men." A gasp of shock issued from the crowd. "We are filth!" the old man exclaimed. "We are the dragon blood that stains the earth!" People were aghast. They stirred and chattered, perturbed. The leader stood aside and watched them flutter like restless hens. A smile crossed his face before he yawned. "We curse the earth with the doom of time!" the old man raised his hands as he bellowed. His voice became larger, more exaggerated, and there was an awkward, almost theatrical rhythm to his movements. "There is no creature more horrid, more full of wickedness! Spawned of the dragon that hid the sun in shadow and froze the earth! The very blood of the beast that sundered all the world from eternity! The foulest people ever conceived, cursed from the moment of our conception!" He paused and lowered his hands, darting a quick glance at his empty glass. He sighed. "We are the blood that stains the earth," he said in a low tone. "The blood that will be cleansed at last. The giants do not make war with us. They come to end all wars. To end all the evil works of men." A fear gripped the nervous throng as people imagined legions of giants marching on the world, sundering cities and strongholds until every trace of human existence had been cast from the earth. They had feared the destruction of their city, but now stared with horror at a fate that promised the extinction of humankind. "It's not fair," a girl protested. The old sailor laughed. "No, child, it is not fair. We come from the dragon, the very blood of the beast. Who can blame us if we kill and rape and ravage the earth? The fury of the beast is in us all." "Was Uhernom bigger than Imiril," the boy asked. "Yes, lad, bigger and more powerful," the sailor said filling his glass. "Uhernom was the fiercest, most terrible creature that has ever existed on the earth, and all dragons that have come after him are mere whispers of the first and greatest beast." The old man cleared his throat and was about to resume his cheerless talk of doom when the boy spoke again. "I have heard that Imiril was slain by an elf who flew into the sky to meet the dragon with his steel." The old sailor received the interruption with a faint smile and shook his head. "No, lad, the elves did not slay Imiril. One of the Jhorim seized the beast from the clouds and cast it into the sea where it drowned." "But people saw him in the sky," the boy insisted. "A coppery elf with a scarlet shirt." The sailor chuckled. "Elves do not fly or slay dragons. They dwell far away from men and mind their own affairs, if they truly exist at all." He patted the boy on his head and swiftly turned to the crowd. "We are the bane of creation! The foulest wretches of existence! Our doom has come for us! The curse of the dragon spares no man!" The leader stepped forward and splashed the old man's face with a mug. "Don't be a fool." The old sailor laughed. "I feared you had fallen asleep." The leader addressed the crowd. "There is no doom upon us, no curse of dragon blood. The city has been flooded by four giants who come out of the north and displace the waters of the sea." "But I have heard of the Jhorim," a man said. "So have I," a woman agreed. "A race of giants that have dwelt on the earth for ages that cannot be counted." "We have all heard the tales of these giants," the leader said. "They have been called Jhorim and Jothin and many other names. Some say they are the oldest beings. Some say their steps across the earth set the whole world spinning. There are many stories, many tales of wonder and magic that we tell our children, but no reasonable man or woman can believe such things." He looked at the crowd, hoping his appeal had brought them back to their senses, but they met his glance with eyes full of fear. "Or have we all lost our minds." "The story is not true? The giants do not come to cleanse the earth of men?" The old man was about to reply, but someone refilled his glass before he could speak. "The story is a magical fable and nothing more," the leader replied. "A tale that sailor's tell each other to pass the time at sea. It is no truer than stories of elves flying into the sky to meet dragons with steel." The boy pouted. "The city is not under attack. Four giants pass this way. The water will recede when they have gone." "What should we do then?" someone asked. "We must wait," the leader said. "Wait for what!" the indignant youth exclaimed. "Giants are coming with axes to destroy our city! We must flee with all we can gather!" The leader winced at the outburst, weary of the young man and his barks of protest. "The giants do not attack us," he said in a low tone. "They venture out on some errand that is not our concern and will pass by our city without incident." "You do not know this," the youth opposed. He turned to the crowd. "He has been too long at sea and lost his reason. We should not let our actions be decided by a stubborn seaman." "Or the drunken fables of an old man," the leader added with irony. Some laughed. The youth stood a moment with his mouth agape, incensed by the apparent levity. "We must flee to the mountains while there is still time," he implored. "The mountains are very cold," a man said. "But there are great caverns that run for miles," the young man explained. "The passages are too narrow for the giants to follow us." "How long would we hide in the caves?" "Forever. We will build a new city, an impenetrable citadel hidden in the mountains." "You can't be serious," remarked a sailor. "I have seen the caverns," the lad persisted. "Thousands could dwell in those caves without fear of storm or invasion." "Who comes to invade us?" "Mor comes," the lad replied. "What!" someone cried. There was sudden panic as people imagined the armies of Mor crossing their borders. "They do not come this day!" the lad shouted over the clamor. "But they will surely come." "We are a neutral territory under the protection of the west," a man argued. "King Abernaeth keeps a close eye on this land." "Abernaeth is miles away," the youth replied. "He cannot protect us." "The King's ships are in the harbor," a woman said. "His knights are always in the city." "Only a handful of swordsmen," the lad countered. "What will they do against Mor's armies?" "The King is wise to send only a small band of knights," the leader explained. "A larger force might prompt a response from Mor, and while it is true that Mor could defeat this small troop, it would do so at cost to its own army which is sorely divided in too many territories. With a small fleet Abernaeth keeps Mor in check without starting war." "The war has already started," the youth declared. "Mor's armies threaten all lands and no ships from the west will halt them. They have swept over the east without pause and all who opposed them have fallen. Do you think the dark lords will not conquer this land? Do you think they will spare this valley where men from the west conspire to gain a foothold in the east? Only a fool thinks we are safe here." "How safe will it be in the mountains," a sailor said with some sarcasm. "Do you think Mor's armies will not find us in the caves?" "No, they will not find us. They will not even know we are there. If we flee to the mountains now and leave the city to the giants it will seem as if the giants destroyed us all. They will find only the rubble of a sundered land that was devastated by titans." The sailor thought for a moment. "What about food and water?" "A river runs through the caves," replied the lad. "We will take our livestock. There are tunnels that run up the mountains and open onto terraces where we can grow fruits and vegetables. We will have all that we need and live without fear of invasion."
The sailor grinned. "We might survive this way, but dwelling in caves can hardly be called living."
There were nods and grunts of approval from the other sailors who would not fathom spending their days in a cavernous abode, away from sun and sky.
"Do you call this living?" the lad retorted. "We pretend that Mor cannot reach us over the mountains, we live with the illusion that we are at peace in this valley, but if someone speaks of Mor we are suddenly fraught with fear. We fool ourselves each day, trying to forget we live under the shadow of sorcery and terror, and with the years we have grown so used to this oppression, so familiar with dread, that when new threats come we are slow to react. What other city that is flooded by giants would pause to consider the titans' intentions? Only people who have become too accustomed to dire things could ignore such obvious danger. We exist in this valley, but do not say that we live here. While the grey fog of Mor curls in the south there can be no true living."
There was a moment of silence. The sting of his barbs shook many heads with denial. People were appalled at this haughty young man who chastised their ways, but his argument found its share of sympathizers, particularly among the sailors who in their travels had seen firsthand what Mor had done to other lands. But the prospect of abandoning their fine homes to live in tunnels and darkness appealed to no one.
"Bats live in caves," a man objected, dismissing the outlandish proposal. "People are not bats."
"Listen to me, we must leave now," the lad insisted. "Let the giants have this city, let them tear it asunder so that Mor will not come this way."
"Caves are no place for men," the man said shaking his head. "We will stay here in our city. If giants or soldiers come we will fend them off or die in defense of our land, but we will not scatter like mice into a hole."
"Fend them off?" the lad said astounded. "How shall we fend off giants? With great catapults we do not have? With sorcerous weapons? Perhaps we will taunt them with unflattering remarks and shame them away."
The youth grew more agitated as he spoke, plainly in disbelief at the utter complacency he perceived around him. He tried once more to warn the people of imminent danger, to convince them his plan was sound, but none could be swayed, no argument of logic or unnatural terror could drive them from their homes.
The young man was daunted. He paced about the floor with fists clenched, shaking his head in silent protest. The leader smiled observing him. The lad was a bold speaker who did not hesitate with his opinions. He expressed himself with little care for prudence, so convinced of his own reasoning he could scarcely hide his surprise when others were not in accord with his views. He was a stubborn lad and the leader had taken no pleasure in his loud opposition, but there was something underneath his brash manner, a genuine fear that he could not conceal. He stood alone, his head lowered with the weight of his worries, and the leader felt pity for this lad whose youth had been fouled by the dread of Mor.
"The dwarves have dwelled in mountains for ages," he said stepping toward the young man, "and they fear the dark lords no less than we do."
The lad turned to the sailor and stared at him without reply. Then he lowered his head.
"We cannot hide from Mor's reach," the leader said placing a hand on the lad's shoulder. "But men do not hide."
The youth looked up at the sailor. "What can we do?"
"Live," the man answered. "Each day that comes we must live and be thankful for the sun and moon above us, for all the world that surrounds us. We must not spend our days in fear of what may come. The world was full of terrors in ages past and now those terrors are no more, and so it will be with the lords of Mor when their time has passed."
"Look at the street." a woman said with surprise. "The water recedes."
The group turned to the windows and looked down at the flooded square where the water was dropping rapidly, flowing in a steady stream northward toward the harbor.
"What is this?" a sailor said confused.
"Let us find out," the leader replied. He went to the stair and started down the steps with his sailors behind him.
"Go now, my captain," the old man rasped. "Go to the giants! Go to your doom!" He had barely resumed his doleful ranting when two sailors came back up the stair to retrieve the drunkard, lifting him off the floor as he gulped another swig of wine.
The leader emerged on the stair, shaking his head as they carried the man down the steps. "Will you all stay here and worry?" he said, "Are there none among you who will come with us to the harbor."
"I want to see the giants," the boy said, pulling away from his mother who held his hand.
"Anyone else?" the leader asked.
After some hesitation, the outspoken young man came forward. "I will go."
The leader smiled. "Come on, then." He led the way down the stair with the young man beside him. They stepped out into the square and behind them a group of men and women and children followed. They plodded down the watery street in a stream that came up to their ankles, heading north toward the harbor and the giants. The water moved swiftly through the square and there was something odd about the steady flow.
It seemed to bend around buildings, avoiding them, creating a narrow margin of dry pavement. The street sloped upward and the water kept moving, rising upland on its unnatural course. It was an eerie scene, a strange phenomenon that could not be explained. Perhaps the lords of Mor had come with their sorceries. None could say what was happening, but it was plain that some power was at work in the water, guiding its path to the harbor.
They came within sight of the pier. A few ships were moored there, tossing with the stirring waves, and some distance beyond them four figures loomed against the horizon, moving slowly forward. They were still far away, but even at this distance the giants seemed enormous and people could hear the earth groan under their casual stride.
The sailors led them to the pier where the sea spilled onto the docks and the crowd stared at the approaching titans with a mixture of fear and wonder. Some caught the glint of a great axe, a blade so massive it might eclipse the sun or cleave the earth with a stroke, and they wondered if their doom was upon them, coming across the sea to finish the human race.
"I see a ship," a woman said.
Looking into the horizon, some could perceive the mast and sail of a galley. It leapt across the tumbling sea in peril of capsizing, rising and falling with the twisting waves.
"What is that in the sky?" the boy asked.
Something hovered in the air. It was too far to discern. A wisp of cloud perhaps, curling above the giants. But it did not drift away from the titans. It stayed on them as they strode across the sea.
The leader snapped his fingers and a sailor handed him a telescope. He focused the instrument and gasped with the shock of what he saw.
"What is it?" the sailor asked.
The leader took a moment to regain himself. "It appears to be an elf."
"An elf!" the boy said excited.
The sailor took the telescope to see for himself and almost dropped the instrument when he glanced a coppery elf in a billowing scarlet cloak, hovering aloft in the sky. He stared in disbelief as the elfin being seemed to walk upon the air, surrounded by a glowing mist that swirled around him. Then his eyes widened with astonishment as he perceived shapes in the mist, vague forms that were not easily seen, appearing and vanishing in a haze of movement, and he caught glimpses of ethereal entities, miraculous beings of the air that darted round the elf in a shimmering breeze.
His mouth agape, the sailor stood staring at the horizon, utterly dumbfounded and without words to describe what he had seen.
"Is that the elf who killed the dragon?" the boy asked. "The one who flies?"
The old man peered across the sea, squinting to spy the elf in the clouds. "It could be, lad," he said soberly.
The giants advanced toward the pier, moving slowly across an ocean that stirred gently around them. They were massive and daunting, but the murmuring crowd focused its attention on the tiny figure that hovered aloft, passing the telescope from one person to another, and all that glanced the coppery elf were struck with surprise and there was no fear among them for the moment.
Meanwhile, some distance away, a curious dialogue was taking place.
"What brings the Jhorrim into the lands of men?"
The giant groaned as if disturbed from sleep. He turned his head toward the elfin being and his beard tossed with the motion, thick curls of black that swept down to his waist.
"What brings the elves?" the giant replied sharply. His voice was low and moved the air with a gust that sent clouds racing away. The elf's cloak lifted with the powerful breeze, but otherwise he was unaffected, still hanging in the air.
"The Jhorrim have not come this way for ages," the elf said. "We must wonder why they come now."
The giant did not answer. He strode forward with his head low, bearing the weight of his great axe on his shoulder. He was an ancient being, as old as the mountains, and the doings of men and elves were not his concern.
"Why have the Jhorrim come?" the elf persisted.
The giant grumbled with mild annoyance. "We do not come for men."
"What do you come for?"
The giant yawned and fell silent.
"Your passage has caused a disturbance in these waters that has flooded the lands of men. Many fear you have come to destroy them."
"Men feared death before we came and they will fear it after we have gone," the giant said. "We cannot calm the fears of men and we will take no interest in their affairs."
"Where are you headed?"
"We go where we go."
"Where are you going?"
The giant stayed on his course and did not reply. His movements were slow, almost sluggish, but there was no lethargy in his gaze as he stared into the south. His eyes were keen and alert. He was older than most beings of the earth, but this giant did not lack vitality. Yet he inched his way across the sea as if encumbered by his own mass. Behind him the other three giants did the same, lumbering slowly southward. The giant claimed they had no interest in the affairs of men, but their slothful advance suggested they were not wholly indifferent to mankind, for they took care not to disturb the surrounding lands more than was necessary. They did not speak among themselves, they did not pause to rest. They held a steady gaze on the horizon and went forward, moving the oceans of the world with each enormous step.
"There is no quarrel with men?" the elf asked. "There will be no fighting?"
The giant sighed. "Our quarrel is not with men, Lord Efkin. If there is fighting men will be spared."
The elf was stunned. How could this giant who dwelled far away in the north, for ages apart from the civilized world, know his name?
The giant turned his head and brought his gaze upon the elf lord. His face was stern, but his brow lifted with the hint of a smile.
"You know who I am?"
"We know the elf lords," the giant replied. "We know all the younglings of the earth."
The Braey elves existed on the earth almost from the beginning of days, yet there were some beings who were older still, age-old entities like the elementals and the dryads who had seen the shaping of the lands. The elves were an ancient folk, once immortal like the elder races, but the poison of the Runes had diminished their power and now they lived the numbered years of men. None of their kind remained from that time at the dawn of the world. But these giants had lived through all the seasons of the earth, had walked the lands when the Kyre and other entities were creating the world.
"We heard the song," the giant said. "Days ago we heard the song and we knew you were coming."
"The song?"
"The blade."
Efkin paused a moment confused. "You heard Harbinger?"
The giant nodded. "It has been so long since we heard the song."
"It sings only when demons are near and I have not encountered any in quite some time."
The giant let out a grunt that sounded like laughter. "The sword is always singing."
"I do not hear it."
Now the other three giants grunted, breaking their silence with a sudden mirth that surprised Efkin. He was pleased to know these ancient ones could still find humor in the world around them, but slightly perturbed that he was the cause of their jollity. The elves were wise and powerful and not used to ridicule.
"There are many things you do not hear," said the giant. "The crooning blade at your side is just one of them."
Efkin smiled to himself, for he had stood between the planes and heard the song of creation. No other beings of the earth had journeyed down the paths he had crossed. What did these giants know about such things as he had seen and heard.
"Can you hear them?" the giant asked.
"Who?"
"The ones that carry you aloft."
Efkin listened to the air. "I hear their wind song blowing."
"No, elfin one, can you hear what they are saying?"
"Are they saying something?"
The giant sighed. "How the old ties have dwindled," he said shaking his head.
Efkin listened to the wind that stirred around him, trying to discern voices in the whistling air. He could feel the presence of numerous beings, breezy entities that flitted all around him, but their speech was something he could not perceive, an ancient tongue outside the limits of his senses. Yet he could summon the windy spirits with relative ease, for the servants of the air attended to the Sylph in his times of need. Almost a year ago they had carried him into the sky to slay a dragon. That first summoning had required an incantation and the removal of his pendant to reveal his light to the powers of the earth, the elementals that were from the beginning of days the allies of the elves, but his strength had grown so that he could now summon the beings almost at will, gathering the entities around him with a mere thought. He did not even have to remove the pendant that veiled his light. His mental request traveled across unseen paths to summon the ancient ones in an instant.
"A pity the elves cannot hear the song of the sword," said the giant. "In a time they could perceive such things, but alas, nearly all creatures are deaf to the old harmonies now."
"We will hear them again," Efkin said. "The Runes are broken and the poison of sorcery fades from the earth. The old ties grow stronger each day."
The giants grumbled at the mention of the sorcerous signs. Few other beings had felt the corruptive force of the Runes as keenly as they had.
"The Runes were foul," said the giant. "The vilest sorcery that was ever wrought."
"They are no more," Efkin said.
"No part of the earth is not tainted by the evil that was done long ago. We are not rid of sorcery yet, elfin one."
This last remark was made with a sideways glance that startled Efkin, for it seemed the being warned of some coming danger. The men of Mor still threatened the lands, but was there some greater peril the elves did not foresee?
He waited for the giant to speak, but the being fell silent. He lowered his massive head and continued forward with his great axe over shoulder, wading through the wide sea in step with his three companions.
"Where are you going?"
The giant grunted. He was older than the hills and wise enough to know the elves could not be banished.
"We come for one of our own," he said at last. "Our brother has lost his way."
Efkin was confused. The Jhorrim were clannish and isolated. They did not wander the earth like rogues, and if they did they would not lose their way in this land they helped create. The great race of titans had burrowed into the deepest parts of the earth, cleaving the rock with axes that never dulled, carving and shaping and creating in the molten depths. They knew every part of the earth.
"You say he is lost?"
The giant nodded. "Our brother has fallen. He has lost his way and we must guide him back to his proper path."
"He has fallen?"
The giant moaned. "He has fallen from our ways, fallen into treachery."
"What kind of treachery?" Efkin persisted.
"He has stolen," said the giant, "and what he has stolen must be returned."
"What has he stolen?"
The giant sighed and spoke in a low tone, as if he did not want the wind or sea to hear of the crime.
"He has taken a ring." The giant halted suddenly and stared at the water with wide eyes, at once perceiving something below the surface. He put both hands on his great axe and very slowly began to raise the blade until it was high over his head. He held it there for a moment, not moving a muscle, standing as still as a statue. Then he lowered the axe with a tremendous force that kicked up the sea and sent waves of shock curling across the earth for miles. Efkin would have been splashed, but the heaving sea met a windy resistance that blew the spray away to keep the elf lord dry. He watched as the giant lifted the axe out of the churning water in one swift motion, and then stared amazed at the strange prize the blade withdrew from the sea. It was an enormous creature of unimaginable size, a monstrous leviathan with many flailing tentacles that wrapped around the axe-hilt and whipped the air. One appendage snapped toward Efkin and fell away, deflected aside by a sudden gust. Another one curled tightly around the giant's neck, exerting a strength that could sunder rocks, yet the titan stood firm, both hands at his axe, utterly calm and indomitable.
The creature thrashed on the blade, screeching horribly, and then the great monster was limp and struggled no more. The giant eyed the massive thing as he spoke. "I doubt you have seen the Kraagar before. It has never come this way." The giant turned his gaze west. "Our brother is near."
"Does he command these creatures?"
"He has the ring," said the giant. "It draws the Kraagar toward it."
"For what purpose?"
The giant grunted. "The purpose of living. The Kraagar keeps our folk healthy."
"How does it do that?"
"By filling our stomachs." The giant grinned slightly. "Did you think we do not eat?"
Efkin smiled, for he had not considered that the invincible race of titans might require some kind of sustenance.
The giant looked at the dead sea monster, turning it on his blade. Then with an upward swing of his axe, he cast the carcass over his shoulder.
"Men should not fear us," he said, picking up his stride. "We do not poison the earth with sorcery." He grunted and led the giants on their way. "Farewell, Lord Efkin."
Efkin hung in the air a moment, watching the giants pass into the west, marching across the world they had shaped, and he wondered if their kind would ever pass this way again.
A crisp breeze blew in his ear and he turned his attention to the shore where people were gathered at the harbor. Then another breeze swept around him and he was suddenly gliding toward the shore on a sentient wind, borne by unseen servants of the air.
The crowd at the pier had grown from a few dozen to several hundred onlookers. They stood with their heads turned up to the sky, eyes wide with wonder at the sight of the cloaked being who came from aloft, drifting toward them like a leaf that falls gently to earth.
He swept down into their midst and the throng parted to receive the elf lord, making space for him in the paved square. His black boots met the ground with a tap. He stood a moment looking at the people, still shimmering with the entities that surrounded him, and the men and women who returned his gaze were too stunned for speech.
"The giants do not come for men," Efkin said. "Your land is safe."
The leader stepped forward. "Why are they here?"
"They are passing through," Efkin said. "They will not trouble you."
"The flooding has been trouble enough," the man said.
"They are giants," Efkin replied. "The water recedes now as they pass."
"Yes, it rushes back to the sea with unnatural haste." The man's tone was mild, but his eyes held a hint of suspicion.
"The elves have ties with the wind and sea," Efkin said, hoping to calm any fear of sorcery.
"Those are good ties to have," the man laughed. "I have heard stories of the elves. The fair folk that dwell on a mystic isle. I cannot say I believed them."
"We do not believe most of the tales either," said Efkin.
The man laughed again. "I am a sailor, I have heard them all."
A boy came scrambling out of the crowd. He ran toward them and stopped suddenly when Efkin met his gaze. He stood for a moment staring at the elf lord, his eyes wide and curious. "Did you kill the dragon?"
The man patted the boy on the head. "Some of our most outlandish fables were authored by these young ones. His favorite is the story of the elf and the dragon, a charming tale of an elfin hero who soars through the clouds to slay a terrible beast."
Efkin smiled at the boy. "That was quite a day." The child gasped with delight. He ran back to his parents as the man eyed the elf lord with raised brows.
A shadow dimmed the square for a moment and all eyes turned to the pier. A ship was coming into the harbor with a mast that touched the sky. It swept into the wharf with sails billowing, turning into the wind as slants of sunlight flickered through the rigging. There was movement on the deck, slender forms appeared at the prow, their features hidden in the glare. The shadowy figures hailed the people at the harbor and their voices were like music. Then they came into view, a crew of elfin sailors, and an excited murmur ran through the crowd. People stared in disbelief at the fair beings that had come to their shore, for none had ever seen their kind before this day. In the lands of men sightings of elves were so rare that many still doubted their existence. There was also uncertainty regarding their intentions, for in this land that bordered Mor there were more than a few who were ill at ease with a race of mystics who could command the wind and sea. But any whispers of sorcery were quelled by cheers and laughter.
The ship dropped anchor. A group of elves leapt onto the pier, stepping so lightly the wood barely thudded as they passed. A score of them spilled into the harbor, clad in tunics and shining mail. They were all lithe and fair, all wondrous beings, but one among them stood out from the others, a spry fellow with brown curls that fell to his shoulders. His attire caught the eye first, for he dressed in black, but there was something else. His casual stride, perhaps, or his knowing gaze. Something indomitable. He might have seemed aloof, but he wore a pleasant smile and received the staring crowd with a polite nod. Entering the square, he found Efkin and made his way toward the elf lord.
Before they could speak, a bearded man emerged from the throng with four swordsmen. His clothes were modest, but he carried a jeweled staff beyond the means of most men. He came toward them with haste.
"My lords," he greeted them. "I am Geiror, mayor of this city you have saved."
"We did not save the city," Efkin replied. "The giants are just passing through."
The man shrugged. "That is what they say, perhaps, but who knows what they truly intended."
"These giants do not lie."
Geiror smiled. "Even so, we are grateful for your assistance." He paused a moment and his expression became serious. "There is another matter of concern. If you can spare a moment I would like to show you something."
Efkin nodded.
The man reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a small figurine. "I acquired this some days ago." He handed Efkin a miniature tower that seemed to be made of glass. It was a fine carving, detailed with meticulous care.
"What is your concern?" Efkin asked.
"You must remove your glove to fully appreciate it."
Efkin did as the man said, removing a scarlet glove. The figurine was cold in his hand.
"It is made of ice," said Geiror, "but it does not melt."
Some women close enough to hear gasped. Efkin stared at the strange carving, but showed no surprise. The people were still recovering from the shock of giants and he did not want to tax their nerves with the fear of sorcery.
"Where did you find this?"
"I bought it in Ponfe," said Geiror. "It is a small town over the hills. I do not usually venture that far north. The snow and ice do not appeal to me. However, I learned that a group of dwarves had recently appeared in the town. I must confess I do not know very much about dwarves, but I understand that they are rather private and not overly fond of men. I was surprised when I heard that dwarves were making frequent visits to this town, often peddling their wares in the market. Then I heard of the wondrous ice sculptures they were creating and decided to brave the chill of the north to see these dwarves and their handiwork for myself. I remember it was snowing when I found them in the center of town, drawing a large crowd with their items. There were helms shaped like winged creatures, metal boxes encrusted with gems, and all kinds of swords and shields. The dwarves are skilled smiths. Their exotic works have no rivals in the market." Geiror paused and stepped closer. "Yet these icy creations seem beyond their abilities." His voice was low so that no others would hear his concern. He kept a pleasant smile on his face, and there was nothing in his manner to betray his fear, but Efkin saw it in his eyes.
"I doubt this is the work of dwarves," Efkin replied.
Geiror nodded, still smiling. A seasoned politician did not let any news, sour or fair, encumber his movements. "Do you know who might fashion such an item?" he asked, his voice even lower this time.
Efkin stared at the crystal figurine for a moment. "I can only say it was wrought with a rare craft. I do not know who has made it, but I sense nothing vile if that is your concern." He put his glove on. "I would not worry about your neighbors in the east," he assured the man. "It does not seem like something their arts would produce." Geiror stared at Efkin for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something. He turned and waved at the crowd. It was a warm salutation and also, Efkin gleaned, a careful study of who was near. "Are you certain it is not tainted?" he said, still waving. Those who observed him from the pier did not hear his query or the fear behind it. His bearing was that of a stout leader, a fine statesman with no burden to trouble him. "There is no sorcery at work here," Efkin said. Geiror sighed with some relief. "We did not think so. The dwarves are strange folk, but they do not deal in mischief. Still, we cannot be too careful. There is something happening in the hills." "The hills?" Geiror nodded. "It grows colder there. The snow and ice do not recede, no matter what season. Each year it gets colder. A chill wind has always blown through the hills, but the snow has not been so thick or the ice so hard." He smiled as he spoke, then he turned away from the crowd and paced along the pier. "It has been quite a day for us. We are not often flooded by giants or visited by the elves. It is usually quiet here. Of course, our locale demands a certain vigilance. We have never grown used to the fog that hangs over the east or the strange lords that conspire there. Things are peaceful now, but I'm sure you can appreciate how quickly that can change. These parts are rich with superstition and any unusual occurrence can raise suspicions of sorcery." "You think the cold comes from Mor?" "I do not know where it comes from," Geiror replied. "Strange things are happening in the hills; the weather changes and the dwarves are on the move." He paused and stepped closer. "And there is something else," he said low. "A fire in the sky." Efkin raised a brow and stared at the man with plain interest. Seeing he had the elf lord's full attention, Geiror continued. "Every town has its stories, I know. In my three years as mayor I have heard some strange tales. The most bizarre accounts I have tried to dismiss, but on occasion there is one that warrants some scrutiny. For several days there has been talk of a flame that shoots across the sky at night. I ignored the rumors at first, but too many have come forward." He looked at the crowd for a moment, hesitating before he spoke. He brought his gaze back to the elf lord. "Some even swear they have heard a shrill cry when the flame appears, as if the blaze can speak." Efkin stared at the man. Geiror waited, hoping the elves might provide some explanation and put fears to rest. He watched the elf lord turn to his ebon companion. Without words, the two nodded. "We will need a pair of horses," Efkin said. Geiror paused a moment. He knew that elves did not tarry long in the lands of men. If one of their lords felt this matter required his personal attention it must be severe indeed. "I see," he replied. "It may be nothing," Efkin said, sensing the man's concern. "We will search the hills." "Of course," Geiror replied. "Whatever strange thing is lurking, I know the elves will deal with it properly." He sighed, looking pensive for a moment. "I could bring you the horses now, but it occurs to me this errand in the hills might benefit from a bit of prudence." "What do you have in mind?" Geiror glanced at the crowd. "There has been so much commotion. There will be talk of giants and elves for a good while, but if you go into the hills now some will wonder what terrors the elves are seeking. The rumors of sorcery may cause panic. I thought perhaps you might delay your journey." Efkin looked at the hills. "We should not waste more than a day." "Of course," Geiror agreed. He thought for a moment. "If you set out before sunrise the streets will be empty." Efkin turned to Ebin who gave a shrug. "Very well," Efkin said. "We will leave at dawn." Geiror grinned. "Thank you, Lord Efkin. I know you have many things to attend to and I would not interfere if we did not live in such delicate times." "In such a delicate place," Ebin said glancing east. Geiror gave a shrewd nod. "Yes, as I have said, our locale exerts some influence on the collective mood." He sighed and for a moment his eyes betrayed his weariness. It was only a brief moment, though. A glance at the crowd restored his poise and his steps were sure as he walked along the pier. "I will send the horses at dawn." He waved his staff and two men cleared a path for him as he approached. He turned to the elves before leaving the pier. "Once again, I thank you for saving this town from a terrible flood. We are fortunate to have the elves on our shores." "And on our side," a man grunted. Wearing a smile, Geiror made his way through the crowd, often stopping to shake hands with supporters and lend his ear to those with concerns. Efkin watched the man as he received every person with courtesy. There was no haste in his stride and he gave his full attention to all appeals. He seemed to linger a while longer than he had to, as if he enjoyed these talks, but when he got into his carriage the door had barely closed when the horses were urged to trot swiftly away. The elves smiled.