Back | Next
Contents

Chapter Thirty-Nine



The giant was, in fact, sound asleep.

However, they were quite surprised to discover something they had never considered: that it was female. If the long deer hide and bedsheet smocks hadn’t been suggestion enough, one look at her face would certainly have sufficed; it was broad but surprisingly fine-featured and framed by tumbling curls of light brown hair.

Ahearn stopped as if frozen by mancery. “Now what?”

Druadaen felt a frown forming. Now what, indeed? He’d experienced the same reflexive pause when he’d first discovered the sex of the blugner they’d fought in the Gur Grehar. It made little sense, really; the prohibition against killing women and children was not observed among most underkin and, truth be told, not often enough among humans, either. But that discovery had come after a life-and-death battle during which, had he known the sex of the blugner, it would have been nothing less than suicidal to scruple over it. But here…

“What is your plan?” Umkhira whispered.

Druadaen shook his head. He’d envisioned giants as large, angry, brutish creatures that would only respond to mortal threat. A crossbow held to one temple with their body soaked in oil and a burning torch ready to hand had been one set of precautions he’d contemplated. Having Elweyr and Padrajisse stun or daze the being had been another. And the latter might still work, but…

“My plans do not suit this situation. We must find a way to wake her gently.”

“Gently?” Ahearn looked at his sword. “Share your wisdom.”

Umkhira was frowning. “If only there was a way to bring her around slowly…”

Druadaen stared at the Lightstrider, then smiled. “Thank you. That is exactly the plan we needed.”

Her frown deepened. “Do you mock me? That was no plan; that was a wish.”

“But it was also a plan. One you’ve already demonstrated with great success.”

“Me? I have done nothing of the sort!”

“In fact, you have, just the other day.”

Ahearn rolled his eyes and muffled a moan. “Oh, fer bogsakes. You mean to sing to it?”

“To her,” Druadaen corrected. “And yes, I do.” He thought. “But from beyond arm’s reach.”

“You’d be meaning her arm’s reach, a-yeh?”

“Yes.”

“And do you think she’ll even hear us from that far away?”

Druadaen shrugged. “I do not know. But this seems an excellent time to find out.”

However, his simple plan ran into an immediate snag: they could not decide on what to sing. Although they all spoke Commerce, none of them had grown up with the same songs. As they debated and compared tunes, their whisperings became annoyed mutters.

The giantess stirred. She quieted, but her breathing did not slip back into the same, sonorous drone as before.

“I have refrained from suggesting it,” Druadaen murmured quickly, “but there’s at least one song we all know.”

“There is?” Umkhira asked.

“Which one?” insisted Ahearn.

“The one the sail handlers sung on the Swiftsure almost every day.”

That song?” Umkhira almost recoiled. “It was very lively. And vulgar.”

“So we will sing it more slowly,” Druadaen replied. “And we will…uh, well…”

“And we’ll sing it sweetly,” Ahearn concluded with a smile. “Like every word is a drop of musical honey from the purest lullaby.”

Umkhira’s eyes seemed ready to start out of their sockets. “And just how should one sing those words in such a tone—?” But Ahearn did not wait; he lifted his chin and put his voice to the task.

And to their surprise, he not only managed to make the rapid, ribald lyrics sound like a slow, cheery campfire song, but did so in a rich, mellow bass that would have been the envy of most court minstrels.

Druadaen added his serviceable baritone and Umkhira her soft, if rumbling, alto.

For a full minute, there was no response. Then the immense body under the blanket—actually, multiple bear hides stitched together—shifted, rolled away, then began to roll back in their direction.

“Be ready!” Druadaen whispered.

“For what?” Umkhira wondered.

“For…anything!” he replied.

But once again, what happened was arguably the one thing they were not ready to respond to. The giantess’s eyes opened lazily—they were a rich chocolate brown—and slowly closed.

—and then opened wide with an audible slap of skin hitting skin. She jerked forward…but not to attack. Rather, she grabbed the bear-hide blanket to her with a panic of startled virtue that recalled young girls reacting to unexpected intrusions upon their bedchambers.

“We mean no harm,” Umkhira said in Undercant.

“Then don’t use the language of vermin!” the giantess burbled in passable, but very slurred, Commerce. She squinted hard at Umkhira. “Oh. Pardons.” She straightened. “Yet you intrude. With weapons ready.” She licked her lips.

Ahearn brought his sword to readiness again.

But Druadaen had been watching more closely. She had licked her lips, yes, but they were cracked and almost gray. “Are you…thirsty?”

“For our blood, maybe,” Ahearn muttered.

He hissed the swordsman to silence as the giantess put a hand to her forehead. “I am…I need…” She swayed. As she did, one of her hands lost full grip on the blanket of many bearskins and her torso was revealed.

Despite her pale and drawn cheeks, her body was bloated.

“Are you well?” Druadaen tried again.

“I am well enough to defend myself against littlings.” She started the reply as a growled threat, but it ended as a long, shuddering sigh of pain.

Umkhira was frowning. “You are ill.”

“I do need water,” she groaned. “If you have come to kill me, I will fight as best I may. If not, then please—bring my water from without.”

“Where is—?”

“Next to the hearth.”

Druadaen considered. That would mean it was in one of the barrels. It would take two strong persons to move it. He turned to Ahearn…

But Umkhira spoke to him before Druadaen could. “Come, swordsman. Let us fetch water while the Dunarran speaks to the giantess.” Druadaen moved to stop her, but the Lightstrider shook her head with a smile. “I am every bit as strong as you. Stronger perhaps.”

He smiled back. “Send in Elweyr, if you would. With all our rations.”

Shortly after she exited with Ahearn, the thaumantic edged cautiously into the alcove. “I do not mean to intrude,” he muttered.

“Well, whatever you mean, intrude is what you have done. All of you.” The giant’s eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment. “Tell me: Why are you here?”

“To speak with you.”

She raised her eyes to the rough rock overhead. “Surely, I am walking in the Great Tract.”

“No, we are really here to speak with you.”

A great sloshing announced Ahearn and Umkhira’s return with a sizable barrel of water.

Her eyes opened wide. “Dream or not, that is very welcome.” She leaned over, carefully avoided touching them, and swung the barrel up to her lips.

As she finished, Elweyr held up the pack into which he’d put their rations. “We come with a gift, as well.”

“Littling food?” Her eyes became clearer, almost seemed to twinkle. “Oh, that would be wonderful!” She took the pack delicately, removed the wrappings, and ate whole meals as if they were small appetizers. After finishing, she smiled—and then clutched her stomach. Which was suddenly bubbling and gurgling like boiling tannery vats.

She leaped out of the bed with surprising alacrity, bear skins flying apart and falling everywhere as she bolted out of the alcove and leaped down the slope.

“Well,” commented Elweyr, “that certainly went as planned.”


Back | Next
Framed