The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - LXXV

LXXV

Ivo put his book away. He closed it with a snap then rubbed his eyes. He would be better for a few hours sleep, but instead he stood up and walked over to the mage. The ranger had just settled down with his pack beneath his head, he was asleep before his eyes closed. Ivo had listened to the talk he'd had with the elven mage then waited for him to sleep before rising himself.

"Telenstil," Ivo said quietly as he approached. "You keep your Queen's instructions well."

"You have large ears my friend," said Telenstil cheerfully.

"Oh I listened in," said Ivo cheerfully. "You two weren't exactly whispering. "Impolite I know, but these are perilous times, and a perilous place in which we find ourselves."

"In some ways things have gone far better than I had imagined they would," said Telenstil.

He kept watch over the steep slope that was the only approach to the ledge where they camped. Ivo sat down next to him, the old gnome let his feet dangle over the edge of the rock and wished he had not left his pipe back at the camp the giants had destroyed.

"I've no fondness for those orcs but they are a improvement over that cursed priest," said Ivo.

"I regret the loss of Henri and the scouts," said Telenstil. "Henri will be missed. We will need the powers he possessed, I do not doubt. It is that map I am pleased with. It showed plans that Nosnra or any giants would undertake. They are not subtle, but whoever is behind them, they are subtle planners indeed."

"They weave a tight web, I agree," said Ivo.

Telenstil did not reply but looked down at his friend with an eyebrow raised.

"We delve deep beneath our hills, and we live close enough to your lands to know your tales," said Ivo. "And we have cousins, gnomes who never see the light of day, but talk of a world beneath ours, where many creatures of brightness have turned dark."

"Maybe you know more of this than I," said Telenstil. "What are these stories that your cousins tell?"

"They are like those that you tell your children when they are bad," Ivo said. "And we held them in as much regard. Not enough it seems."

Telenstil laughed very lightly and quietly. "It seems you also have your secret councils my friend."

"I am like you. I wait to find out more before I put my faith in children's tales," said Ivo.

"We have both come far to seek these answers. Talberth too has traveled far, and our halfling friend, who has big ears as well."

Ivo leaned back and looked at the top of the ledge where a shadow was disappearing back behind the rock.

"Why don't you come down Harold, if you are not going to sleep?"

The little thief came sliding down the wall of rock, then when he was a man's height from the ground, he jumped and landed lightly on his feet.

"You're the one with big ears old gnome," said Harold but in a friendly voice.

"I see it is time for our own council," said Telenstil. "Perhaps we should wake the others."

"Let them sleep," said Harold. "You two want to talk around this business and not through it. All this hogwash of children's tales. My own directions were simple. He called me in..."

"Caught you I believe it was," said Ivo.

"That was simply a misunderstanding. In any case, he said 'Find out what you can,' I'm known for gathering information." the little thief related, his voice growing deep when he mimicked what he'd been told. "About what? I asked. 'About anything' which is usually what his wizardly mightiness commands."

"So what have you found out?" Telenstil asked, his ears perking up with interest at what the halfling might say.

Languages of Oerthly Magic - Levitate

2.12). Levitate

Amedian - Kueala (Ku-Al-A)

Bakluni (Ancient) - Samandara (Sa-Man-Da-Ra)

Drow - Uzak (Uz-Ak)

Dwarven - Flyde (Flid)

Elven - Kalla (Kal-La)

Flan - Znam (Znam)

Fruz - Flata (Fla-Ta)

Giantish - Zaban (Zab-An)

Gnomish - Dravan (Dra-Van)

Oeridian - Plavat (Pla-Vat)

Olman - Metakka (Me-Tak-Ka)

Suel - Zuparnatat (Zup-Ar-Nat-At)

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - LXXIV

LXXIV

"Come quick!" Harald yelled to them. "The way is clear. The gate is open, come." He glanced into the room and caught a glimpse of the whirling pattern that Ivo weaved. Harald turned away but had to shake his head and rub at his eyes to clear them of the mesmerizing gleam.

"You can cease your weaving, my friend," Telenstil called out to Ivo.

The mage bound the ogres with the assistance of the thief, tying their hands and ankles tight with stout cord and gagging them with rags. The group gathered at the door and waited for the word to make their escape from the steading. Talberth, Gytha and Ghibelline shook the orcs free from the grip of Ivo's spell and then helped get them across the floor keeping their eyes from the tantalizing glow.

Ivo let his arm slow to a stop, the magic died, and he put the crystal back safely in his vest. His arm ached, to keep the ogres mesmerized he could not stop or even slow the twisting pattern that had formed the shimmering hypnotic web. While he had been busy weaving his spell he had not felt the strain, but now it came rushing along his arm, it made him gasp.

Suddenly the ogres came alive, they pulled against their bonds, two had been standing, now they fell, trying to free their feet they'd lost their balance. One smashed down face first and lay senseless, not dead, but he would wake with a bruise and a lump the size of a fist atop his head. The other landed with a painful crash, wrenched his shoulder, but still rolled back and forth. The cord was stronger than the thick muscles along the ogre's arms and back, they cut into its hoary flesh, digging bloody grooves deep through its skin.

Harold brought his dagger up and then slammed it down, reversing it in mid-air so that the pommel cracked against the ogre's skull. The monster slumped, its writhing ceased, eyes rolled up to show the yellowish whites, it lay stunned like its companion. The third ogre, the more thoughtful of the three, dropped back and shut its eyes as well, feigning death or sleep. It did not struggle against its bonds as the others had once it saw their fate. The little thief shrugged, he'd have cut their throats and have done with them if he'd had his way. Across from him, Ivo secured his pack and ran over to where Harold stood.

"All ready?" he asked.

"I'm done here," Harold answered him. "Let's go."

"Yes," said Telenstil. "Let us be far from this place and quickly."

* * *

Dark shapes ran out into the night. They left the steading behind and followed the foot trail north, but had nowhere to go. The ranger pushed the gate closed behind them, muttering under his breath at the weighty chain he carried on his shoulders.

"Cursed wizards' toy," he said.

They crossed the hill. There was no cover except for the wild weeds and grass that grew chest high where they had not been beaten down by the passage of the giants. To the south were the lowlands and the way they had come. All around them the mountains towered above the hills, the land became all wild valleys and steep slopes, filled with monsters, home to the giant clans which owed their allegiance to Nosnra, the hill giant chief.

* * *

They'd not gone far, just down the giants' hill, through the valley to the north and up a steep cliff. There was no shelter, simply an overhanging ledge of rock that kept the heavy rain off their heads, though the wind swept the mist and droplets beneath their stony roof and slowly soaked them to their skins. Their perch looked south. This hill, a young mountain, was taller than the one that the steading sat upon, but their temporary camp was well beneath the steep summit which looked down upon that hill. Out over the narrow valley a dark smoke could be seen coming from the steading. It stained the early morning sky.

"I am glad for the place to rest, but we are too close," Harold said to Telenstil.

"I know," the elf replied.

The two stood on a sharp-edged rock that jutted out from the hill. Behind them their companions huddled beneath the little shelter that the overhang provided. Most were asleep. The orcs were clustered in a group like a pack of dogs, sleeping side by side for warmth. They had brought no cloaks or blankets and were unprepared for life outside the steading or the dungeons where they had been kept. The elf Ghibelline rested with eyes closed, his friend Jalal lay next to him, the old man slept, but restlessly. Gytha and Talberth slumbered as well, they had meditated when they first made camp then weariness overcame them. Ivo was just as weary as his human friends but he could not sleep. His bones and joints ached; the hard rock and the cold rain made him feel his years. He studied a book made from thin metal plates where he had his spells inscribed; no rain could dampen the silver sheets. An enchanted stone that burned endlessly with light held in a metal sphere lit the book. When turned, the sphere twisted to reveal a hole which could be widened, letting out the light in a thin point or a wide beam. Their companion Derue, now their captive, was awake. He fought his bonds and would have yelled and screamed but they kept him gagged. The spirit which enslaved his mind still bound him tighter than the cords around his hands and feet. Above the ledge the halfling had found a small cave, once the den of some wild animal, it was warm and dry, but not big enough for any others, except the gnome. Ivo had declined. Harold's snores echoed faintly from the walls and drifted down to the others who remained awake below.

"At least someone is sleeping," said Harald. "I can keep watch, you should sleep as well."

Telenstil nodded toward their makeshift camp. "I am tired but I cannot sleep."

"Don't you need to rest, even if you do not sleep my elven friend."

"I will rest," Telenstil replied. He watched the smoke drifting in the breeze; it was still thick and black. "I think we are safe for awhile. The fire still burns. Will there be any steading left for us to search I wonder?"

"Wouldn't that be for the best?" asked Harald.

"Eventually perhaps, but there are questions that have not been answered," said Telenstil. "It is Nosnra and his warriors that are the danger, not his hall."

"Better to fight them in the open," Harald laughed. "I know, I know, there is no good place to fight giants."

"The open is better," said Telenstil. "I don't want to be trapped within the hall fighting at close quarters with a dozen giants all around, but there is more here than Nosnra, more that I was sent to find than I have found so far."

"That map, it didn't answer your questions?" Harald asked.

"It answered some, but raised even more," said Telenstil. "You know some of this, the giants of the ice and snow, they are part of this as well."

"I came across them raiding the lands of the Duchy," said Harald. "They are strange allies, they have far to come and they prefer their chilly climes."

"Yes, it is a strange alliance," Telenstil said thoughtfully. "I see signs in this of a darker force at work, one which I cannot name till I am sure."

"What mystery is this? I was told little. I do not think that even the Duke himself knows much more, but you seem to have some idea," said Harald.

"There are things which I suspect, but they are farfetched," said Telenstil. "Stories which we tell our children when they misbehave. When I know more, when I know that these suspicions are more than stories, I will tell you. For now it is Nosnra that we must fight, but I would like to search his hall."

"If any of it still stands," Harald yawned. "Now I will rest. Wake me after a few hours have passed. I will take the next watch."

The Spear That Roars for Blood - IX

IX

Archers of Geoff

What of the bow?
The bow was made in Geoff:
Of true wood, of Hornwood.
The wood of Geoff bows;
So men who are free
Love the old Hornwood tree
And the land where the Hornwood grows.

What of the cord?
The cord was made in Geoff:
A rough cord, a tough cord,
A cord that bowmen love;
So we'll drain our jacks
To the Geoff flax
And the land where the hemp was wove.

What of the shaft?
The shaft was cut in Geoff:
A long shaft, a strong shaft,
Barbed and trim and true;
So we'll drink together
To the Grey goose feather
And the land where the gray goose flew.

What of the men?
The men were bred in Geoff:
The bowman - the yeoman -
The lads of dale and fell
Here’s to you - and to you!
To hearts that are true
And the land where the true heart dwells.


(Originally 'The Outland Bowmen' by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
from 'The White Company') (and thanks to Rip Wormer for his help)



Daghdha's bow thrummed with every shot and as he put his heart and mind into his archer’s craft he began to hum.

"You're not going to start singing are you?" Arawn asked already knowing the answer.

Below them an orc leapt up and grabbed the edge of stone at their feet. Daghdha stamped upon its fingers. It gave a scream and fell back among its fellows. Arawn fired almost point blank, straight down, and killed another with a single shot.

"I'll sing if I want," Daghdha huffed. "Nothing wrong with my singing."

"It’s good for chasing off bears and scaring small children," said Arawn.

"Their coming around the sides," Daghdha said then went back to his work.

Arawn drew his sword instead of an arrow and, backing a few paces from the edge, placed it point first in the ground. It would be at hand and ready when the beasts came too close for the bow.

On either side the cliff the orcs found a low place along the ledge. Three were rushing toward Arawn on the right and five came at Daghdha on the left, with the remainder of the clan, those who were not lying dead or wounded below, following close behind.

Daghdha laughed and began to sing, "What of the bow?...." he began and fired on the running orcs.

Red, The Sun With Smoke, The Oerth With Blood. - II

'The Charge of Caldni Vir'
II

"Triamond," Vir called to his friend with a frustrated snap, "Anything, any sign?"

"No, Sir!" snapped back Triamond, The large man was just as frustrated.

Two days of patrols and searches had found no sign of the barbarians. The woods were thickening as they drew near the Loftwood and Caldni Vir was mindful of the time they no longer had.

"There must be something," Vir shook his head. He'd removed his helmet, a light contraption of leather and chain with a small steel skull-cap atop, and hung it from the pommel of his saddle. His black hair was flat and damp with sweat.

"We even had Miskurblindi casting the bones," said Triamond.

"That tame barbarian hedge-wizard of yours, "Vir swore under his breath."If he can't find a trail or sign of magic then there is none to be found."

"He thinks highly of you too," laughed Triamond.

"Well no one is going to be thinking much of us when we get to Spinecastle," Vir said to his friend. "Where are they?"

"North," spoke up Amaury. The noble was attired in gull armor, such as the heavy cavalry of Lord Adri wore, though his was enameled in blood red.

"You will kill that horse," said Triamond disgustedly. "Looks like you are ready to join Adri's 1st Cataphract."

"North," said Vir, interrupting the banter. "Amaury, how do you know?"

"Blessings of the War God," the young noble gave them a wicked smile. "Am I not his faithful paladin?"

Triamond spat on the ground, but did not comment.

"This is a true fortelling?" asked Vir.

"I would not joke about such a thing," said Amaury. "We have not found them because they are not here. I was granted a vision," the young man grimaced. His face bore signs of pain and lines which had not been there just that morning. "At a cost," he added noting the looks from his two friends. "Mountains, a pass, very treacherous, a score of barbarian warriors falling to their deaths at a time. Then rockslides, beasts and monsters, death, much death. These barbarians kept coming none the less. They crossed the mountains in a swarm like maggots on a rotting corpse. One dies, ten die, a hundred, but they still came on in their thousands. I saw a tribe of ogre's dispute their passage, they were swept aside in moments. They come for us."

"Here?" asked Triamond, surprised.

Amaury shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as if to close them. "What? No, not here. What did I say?"

"You said, 'They come for us'," Triamond repeated the young noble's very words.

"Well I don't think so," Amaury shook his head. "How would they know we are here? And why would thousands of barbarians come looking for us?"

"You're the one who said... " began Triamond.

"Spincastle," Vir said firmly. "They come for Spinecastle. Maybe for the Northern Host as well, if their spies were privy to the marching orders."

"How could that be?" asked Triamond.

"Hah!" laughed Amaury derisively. "The trooper who scrapes my boots knew Spinecastle to be our destination before we set out."

"Our men would not betray us," Triamond stated firmly.

Amaury just rolled his eyes, but Caldni Vir clapped his friend and lieutenant on the shoulders.

"Triamond," said Vir, "Our men are brave, but courage doesn't mean good sense or a still tongue, especially when loosened with ale."

"Many would say that good sense and courage are mutually exclusive," smiled Amaury.

"What do you mean by that?" scowled Triamond.

"Perhaps I should change 'good sense; to 'education'," Amaury laughed.

"What?" sputtered Triamond, his white face growing red.

"Proof positive," Amaury said casually to Caldni Vir, gesturing to their companion.

"Amaury! Stop playing about," Vir ordered with a commanding voice. "Triamond, control yourself. Now then, Amaury, how far ahead are they? How much time do we have?"

The smile faded from Amaury's face and the distant look returned to his eyes. "You are already too late," came a deep sepulchered voice. The words came from Amaury's lips but the voice... the voice belonged to no living man.

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - LXXIII

LXXIII

"You two, follow me," Gytha commanded the orcs. She started toward the door, but neither followed. "What are you waiting for?"

"They've looked at the gnome's charm," said Ghibelline. The elf walked slowly, half carrying Jalal, he'd drafted the aid of a small orc to help.

"Great," Gytha shook her head. "Harald don't go just yet."

The ranger was happily letting down the heavy chain. As the last links fell from his shoulder he stretched out his arms and groaned. "Gytha, it is best if I check the gate alone," said Harald. "Too many of us might alert the giants."

"Don't take any risks," Gytha called to him.

"Just being here is risk enough, do not worry," Harald said to Gytha. He peered around the corner of the door then slipped outside.

"Ghibelline, help me with these orcs," said Gytha.

"You hold up my friend here, understand?" Ghibelline asked the small orc.

The orc runt called Little Rat gave the elf a nod and braced its arm around Jalal's waist, holding up the frail old man alone.

* * *

Outside, the giants had dug great pits and trenches across the yard near the burning walls. Already the blackened embers that had been the chief's private hall were cooling beneath the dirt and the drizzling rain. The fire had not yet died. Its red tongue had licked the beams of the great hall and still danced along the inside of the roof. A huge timber that spanned the ceiling had fallen, smashing tables and benches beneath it, and leaving a long splintered swath of smaller beams above. The hall roof began to sag, but the supporting columns, mighty tree trunks still round but shaven of their bark, kept it from falling while any of the beams still held. The walls had fallen, from the hidden stairs beside Nosnra's private eating hall where the company had first descended, to the chieftainess' chamber at the far end of the trophy hall, the furthest eastern edge of the steading.

Estrith, the chieftainess, had her maids and the orcish slaves struggle the hardest to save her rooms, but to no avail. They put out the fire but Estrith's chamber was lost, three walls and the roof collapsed. The trophy hall was gone, the western passage burnt away and the doors leading to the childrens' room and the maids' chamber blocked by falling half-burnt beams.

To the north, among the ruins of the chief's private chamber, the giants were just stumbling across the huge iron wall, created by magic and left fallen across the floor when the walls came down. The giants still fought the blaze using shovel loads of dirt, long spears and axes to push and chop the fiery wood away from the unburnt walls and roof. None of the giants, the ogres or their orc slaves noticed the lone human who opened the northern gate then ran back inside through the servants' door.

The Spear That Roars for Blood - VIII

VIII

A large boulder stood high along the orcs’ trail. It ran across the edge of the hill and at its center jutted out. Irontooth stood upon this lip of rock atop its center-jutting curve while his kinsmen and goblin troops formed in an aimless mass below.

"Sound that horn again!" he yelled at Fang. He looked below at the gathering crowd. "Smiler...Smil..STOP THAT!" he screamed as the horn rang in his ear and drowned his voice. "SMILER!"

"Yes chief!" Smiler yelled back.

"Where is the clan? The horn's been blown. Who hasn't heeded the call?" said Irontooth. "Where are the little rats? Half aren't even here. Smiler, take some of the boys, round up those lazy scum, treat em like goblins and get them here. Wait! Send some more out to get the rest of those green-faced vermin back in line and bring them here as well."

***

Arawn and Daghdha heard the orc leader’s words, they were within close range, and Arawn yearned to strike him down, but Daghdha held his arm.

"Why not?" Arawn asked in a whispered hush.

"Too soon, they have not discovered us yet," answered the old ranger.

"They will, he's sent out scouts to find his missing men." Arawn argued.

"I say no."

"It will draw them from the others and throw them into confusion. You know these orcs, kill the head and the body runs," said Arawn.

Daghdha thought about these words, and though his better sense said 'do not overeach' his heart said yes. "We talk too much, kill him."

The pair of rangers rose to get a better aim, and together loosed their arrows with two hands but in a single breath.

One shaft struck high and sank between shoulder blades. It did not go deep but pierced a hidden shirt of chain. The other, caught on some stray wind, or was mis-fletched and had a feather out of place, went low and hit beneath the shirt.

Irontooth flung his arms aside, his chest shot out and he lifted almost from the ground. The lower arrow crippled him and brought him down. He fell onto his side across the stony lip of rock.

Neither ranger hesitated, they fired again. Arawn first, Daghdha took his own good time. While Arawn’s quicker shot struck home, it bounced back, deflected from the mail. Daghdha's was a mortal wound. It struck the orcish leader in the head.

Irontooth died before he knew that he'd been hit by Daghdha's well-placed shot. The orc nearby turned and watched as the rangers took aim again but he blew upon his horn and did not run.

Arawn put two shafts into its unprotected chest, but Daghdha charged and ran to reach the place which overlooked the gathered orcish clan. "Might as well be slain as a lion than as a hare," he called back to Arawn.

The orc called Fang dropped his horn, he screamed but, tongueless, only mouthed a grunt and then he choked on blood. It poured out instead of the words he could not form. He stepped back and fell, a third arrow whistled past his sinking head.

"In for a copper, in for a pound of gold," Arawn laughed out another platitude. He ran to be beside his friend and faced the crowd of monsters just below the rocky edge.

Daghdha stood upon the lip of stone and shouted in their own tongue to the orcs below. "Here is your leader, by my hand dead! Next I come for each of you!" He placed his foot atop Irontooth's unmoving chest, then as the orcs screamed and roared, he shoved and sent the body rolling down among them.

When Arawn reached his side, Daghdha had fired twice already, his arrows could not miss their mark. The forest slope was filled with orcs and goblins just beyond them. They were close, the teaming orcs, and Daghdha's shafts passed clean through. Down into chest or gut and out the back, then buried in the ground. The orcs rushed forward, but the rocky edge was just out of reach. They turned to run to either side. Each moment that it took for them to choose, to turn to the left or right, cost them a life. Arawn joined in, standing beside Daghdha, to slaughter all that did not run.

The goblins, never willing allies on this march, did not even string their bows. Their orcish masters had turned to fight. The goblins needed no other chance but threw down packs and heavy quivers. They ran off through the woods, shouting and laughing like children on a holiday.