The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - 2020 - Part 7

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 7

Harold lifted the ogre's blade. It was made for a human hand, a short sword or a long broad dagger, not what the halfling would choose to wield, but his own knife was gone. The sword's sheath was still on the ogre's belt, now lying down below where the monster's body had landed hard upon the stones. He had to keep the blade in his hand or leave it lying on the ground. He wanted to have both hands free, yet standing alone in the giant's kitchen he felt more secure with the hide-wrapped hilt grasped tightly in his hand.

"Little good you will do me against a giant or even another ogre," Harold told the blade. He paced the length of the large room, down its south-eastern arm, beneath the towering tabletops and out to the archway that opened on a long corridor and looked out across to a huge set of double doors. He peered down the corridor, looking south then north, but there was nothing but the tangy smell of smoke, distant noises like the creaking of old bones, and the dim glow of torchlight, the flames burning from sconces far off to either side. Back he went and then to the north and east, more tables, chairs, sinks and shelves, the room bent sharply to the north, a dead end, the kitchen larder. There was a doorway to the south, the way that Edouard went and Derue followed. Harold would not go that way alone, not if he had any other choice. From the chute he heard a banging sound. Harold ran over only to see the ranger Harald climbing up over the wooden lip.

"Harald! Brandobaris be praised!" the halfling cried. "Now don't you go running off."

"Harold, what has been going on?" the ranger answered. He smiled to see his friend, but quickly bent and began pulling up the rope. "Gytha!" he called down the chute. "Just hold on, I will pull you up!"

"Harald!" Gytha yelled from twenty feet down the chute. "You nearly shook me from the rope. Give some warning before you do something like that again."

"Sorry Gytha," Harald said sheepishly. The red-haired cleric let Harald pull her up the rest of the way as recompense. She grabbed the wooden lip and swung over the edge, tumbling ungainly to the floor.

"Are you all right?" the halfling asked.

"I'm fine," Gytha answered a bit quickly. "Just lost my balance there. That is quite a climb, even with assistance. How are you doing?"

"Better now that you two are up here. That crazy pair of scouts ran off," said Harold.

"Where did they go?" she asked.

"Around the corner," Harold pointed to the north.

Harald the ranger began pulling on the rope to signal for another climber to ascend, but they had let it go slack while he hauled Gytha up and no one below felt the jerking of the line.

"Harold," said Gytha, "do you have another pouch to drop?"

"I'll cut some of this sacking away and use it instead. I notice that you left my other pouch behind," Harold complained. He used the ogre's knife to stab a sack of grain, the large kernels poured out and piled on the floor. He'd cut low with a malicious intent, to add one more petty trouble to the woe that they had brought to the steading already. 

***

"You nearly blinded me, man! What magic was that?" Ivo cried.

"None that need concern you, gnome," Henri replied contemptuously. "I came here to find some privacy, do not complain when your interruption might have cost you your sight."

"I came to tell you we were off, my mistake," said Ivo, "One which I will not make again." He left the room and Henri before he said or did more.

***

"Did you find our cleric?" asked Telenstil.

"My bad luck, I did," Ivo replied. "I told him we were leaving, maybe our luck will change and the arrogant so and so will stay behind."

"Don't count on it," Talberth agreed. He did not like the Pholtite priest or his hirelings, the mercenary pair. "What is taking them so long?"

"Talberth, please check the rope," requested Telenstil The young mage gave it a tug and was almost jerked from his feet by the reply. He pulled back and with a shout rose into the air then fell back and landed on the piled muck.

"Yuchhh!" he said and flicked brown viscous droplets from his hands. The rope continued to rise, then stopped and then the slack fell loose again.

"I see we have a small communication problem," said Telenstil.

Talberth pushed himself to his feet, his robe covered across the back with slime and rotting chunks of greens. He drew out a small handkerchief and tried to clean his hands, then tossed the fouled bit of cloth away.

"This is disgusting!" he complained to Telenstil

"Here," said Telenstil. The elven mage cast a simple spell and with a whistling breath and a circle in the air with his outstretched hand sent the mire flying from Talberth's clothes. "Now we had best have Harald draw another of us up. Ivo can you hold two packs while Harald pulls?"

"Give me two of the small ones. We don't want to overstrain our friend up there," laughed Ivo. "And thanks. I want to be away from that pompous popinjay before I test a bit of magic on him."

Telenstil went over and grabbed the rope. He tugged it with care this time and after two or three attempts reestablished contact with those above. They looped the rope around Ivo's waist then gave the line another pull. The old gnome laughed as he rose up the chute like a bale of hay being drawn up into a loft above a stableyard.

* * *

"Who you be, human?" an orc asked Derue. Its face bled from long deep cuts one of the apes had opened across its face.

"I am Killer of Giants, as you can see," he told the orc and spoke loud enough for the others to hear.

The crowd of orcs began to murmur. The one who had spoken stepped back and immediately began to shout down those around him.

Derue sheathed his blade. He breathed hard from the fight just ended, but felt in his heart that Edouard must be near. His brother must surely be injured. There was no time to wait for these orcs to decide if he was friend or foe. "Do You Challenge Me!" he yelled at them and drew his sword. The flames sprang out and ran along its length.

A hush fell on the crowd, the orcs were wild with rage at their captors and joyful at their victory, but they were unprepared to face Derue and the burning sword which had struck down the giant Keeper. Many orcs had died beneath that giant's massive foot, their lives crushed out upon the stones. None had thought to see him dead, not in their wildest dreams. They respected strength and felt a kinship of size, if not of kind, with the human, and none wished to face his magic, fiery sword. The crowd backed away when Derue came near, only the one who had stepped up to him before approached him now.

"Killer of Giants," the orc said to him with respect but in broken common. "Leaders are dead, I follow you. They," he waved his arm at the gathered orcs, "follow me. What we do now?"

"My brother, another human like me, he was just taken, he is alive. Where would he be?" Derue asked the orc.

"We want to leave," the orc ignored his question or did not understand it. "You take us from this place."

A burst of red fury went through Derue, he backhanded the orc hard with his left hand. The meaty smack drew a babble of cries from the orcs. The orc touched the side of his mouth and spat out a gob of blood, he bowed his head and then held out both his hands, palms up, to Derue. "You obey!" Derue told him and put the edge of his blade to the orc's throat, close enough to singe the hair on its pig-like snout and head.

"I obey," the orc replied.

"My brother, where would they have taken him," said Derue, not asking a question but making a demand.

"There," the orc pointed to the eastern wall and a huge iron-bound wooden door.

"Open it," commanded Derue.

The orc nodded and without turning, Derue's blade still near his neck, its heat making his face burn worse than the slap, shouted to the other orcs in their own tongue. A dozen of them ran to the door and grabbed a metal chain. They hauled and, straining, pulled the door open with a rasping creak.

"Now what?" the orc asked looking up at Derue.

The mercenary lowered his sword and ran to the open door. The orcs had dropped the chain and milled about. Derue pushed them aside and jumped into the room. He felt the steel spikes from a morningstar leave gashes along his head as it whirled by. The spiked metal ball took a chunk from the wooden door, sending splinters flying. 

***

His sword went up and caught the chain of the morningstar. The links wrapped around its edge, the bugbear pulled, but the fiery steel cut the iron clean through. Derue was dragged forward and as the spiked ball dropped to the floor, he lunged and drove the point deep into the bugbear's gut. He followed up his thrust with an uphand slash as the bugbear backed away and drew a line of blood and fire across its chest. His sword skittered across the bugbear's ribs and set its fur ablaze.

The room beyond the iron-bound door was a long dank hall, only a table and chairs were inside, but along its southern face were steel bars blocking off holding cells. Near to the door there was a large brass gong, a second bugbear used the wooden haft of his morningstar to hammer it. The noise was harsh and loud. The wounded bugbear stumbled back, colliding with the other as it rang the alarm. They crashed together into the gong making it sound out with a dull boom. They fell to the ground; both swinging wildly and the gong broke free from the chain holding it in place and landed atop the pair. It took them a moment to push the brass plate aside, but Derue pounced and put his sword through the wounded bugbear's chest.

The other bugbear had barely pushed the gong aside and struggled to free himself from the dead weight of his fellow guard when the other orcs came rushing in. Three spear-points stabbed the insectoid-bear crossbreed's arms and legs pinning it like a frog on a dissecting tray. Derue moved in closer and brushed the edge of the burning blade across its throat. It thrashed and bled out its life in a flood of red.

He wasted no more time. Derue turned to the cell doors, each a rough-hewn block carved from the bedrock below the steading. The only light was that thrown from the torches set in the walls of the long room. The first cell was well lit, just opposite a torch.

As Derue approached the bars a howling man threw himself at them with a clang. Filthy, thin and sore-filled arms reached out. The man had long unkempt hair and beard, jagged broken teeth, rags for clothes and a mad light shining in his eyes. He screamed incoherently, spat and hissed at Derue, a handful of long and blackened nails whisked past his face and without a second thought Derue put his sword out and into the madman's chest. The light faded from the man's eyes. A gasping voice called out a name that Derue could not hear, and then he slid down the bars. Derue withdrew his sword and the body clumped against the ground inanimate. Its life released and the broken mind at rest.

The next cell Derue approached with care, but behind him the orcs ran back and forth. They had retrieved a set of keys from the bodies of the dead bugbears and rushed to release a cell holding a quintet of their imprisoned comrades. Derue ignored them. He approached the bars and peered inside from a safe distance. This cell was only half-lit by the torch near the entrance door, half was still in gloom. A body lay face to the wall within the beam of light.

"Edouard!" Derue called to it, but there was no reply and the body did not stir. "Edouard!"

"Blessed be the gods! Have you come to free us?" a voice called out of the gloom.

"Who are you?" Derue answered back, the voice did not sound like his brother's.

"I am Jalal-ud-din of Zeif," the man said stepping into the light. He was thin and ragged, but clothed in a dignity that maltreatment and little food could not strip away. "Ah!" he said looking closely at Derue. "The wounded one here, is he your kin?"

"Edouard!" Derue cried. "Is he badly hurt? Let me see him?" he rushed to the bars and tried to pull open the cell door but it was locked. The orcs had the keys. He could call to them but he could not wait. With two hands Derue brought his sword down on the lock, the metal sheared away in a shower of sparks and flame. Jalal jumped back holding his hands before his face as the sword came down, sparks singing his hair and arms while small curls of smoke rose from the damp and dirty straw that layered the floor.

Derue pulled the cell door aside. It swung outward with a squeal and a shower of rust rained from its bars. He rushed inside and bent down to his brother's still form. Edouard lived, his chest rose and fell, but with a gurgling irregular heave. There were bruises all about his face, his nose was broken, bent to the side and swollen. His eyes were the same, black and puffy with a crust of blood where the swelling had burst.

"He is badly injured," Jalal spoke up quietly.

"We must get him away from here," Derue said without looking up at Jalal. "Come help me carry him."

"No, don't move him! His ribs are broken. I think he might bleed inside. He might die if we move him. At the very least he will suffer greatly," Jalal replied.

Derue could hear the concern in the man's voice and settled his brother's head back down atop the dirty straw. "Are you a healer?" he asked.

"I am a builder, but I have seen many men injured over the years," said Jalal.

"You will stay here with my brother and protect him with your life, I will go find help," Derue rose.

"There is an elven warrior in the next cell. He can help me protect your brother while you are gone, please," Jalal asked.

"Alright, but I have no time to waste. I will release him," said Derue, "blockade the outer door when I have gone and do not open it for anyone but me."

"It will be done. You have my thanks," said Jalal.

"Make sure my brother lives," warned Derue.

Outside the cell the orcs were loud and joyful. They had found the bugbears' keg of ale. It had made the two guards groggy. They'd missed the sounds of fighting from outside and woke only when the orcs had pulled open the heavy door.

"You!" Derue yelled at the orc who had spoken for the others. "Open this other cell!" he pointed toward the third one from the door.

The orc stopped his drinking in mid-glug. He handed the half-empty keg to the orc beside him and wiped his mouth with the back of his grimy hand. A defiant look crossed his face, but only for a moment. One glance into Derue's eyes and another at the burning sword which had slain both ogres and the giant keeper, was more than enough for the orc to think better of crossing either the man or his blade.

"Meatstealer!" the orc called to another. "Open the cell! Now!"

"Yes boss!" the orc answered back. Meatstealer wore the ring at his belt. They shook in his hands and scraped across the lock as he tried to open the cell door.

"You drunken sot," the boss pushed him out of the way and tore the keys from his shaking grasp. "Here now." he said and the key went home, then with a turn clicked it open and the door swung free. "What have we here?" the boss gave a laugh as he looked into the cell. "A pointy-ear'd tree lover! Looks like we..."

"I'll take those keys," said Derue. "And you and the others gather up the weapons and wait for me outside."

"We just want some fun," the orc said disconsolately like a child who has been told to come in from play.

"Get out! Leave now. I will be leading you or I will leave you behind," Derue yelled at them.

None wished to be left behind. They scrambled to leave the room, but did not forget to bring the keg along. 

***

"Who is it?" Harold asked as the ranger pulled the rope up the chute as quickly as he dared.

"I can't tell, they are still too far down," Gytha replied.

Harald didn't say anything. He just gave a grunt as he raised arm length after arm length of rope.

Ivo bumped across the wall, he used his feet to buffer himself from the jarring contact, but there was nothing else he could do. It was a long ride up and he had no more control over his ascent than a sack of grain being hauled up to a storage loft. The gnomes of the Kron Hills had delved deep into the Oerth and in his youth Ivo had explored the shafts and the caverns that his kind had found. It had been years since he had gone caving but he remembered the old ways, at least enough of them to be safely pulled up a rope, and if he was old himself, he was tough as seasoned wood. There was a dim light showing above him, a small square that grew and grew. He saw a huge form bent over the edge and recognized the ranger Harald drawing up the rope.

"Here take my hand!" Ivo called.

The ranger held onto the rope with one hand then reached down and grabbed hold of the gnome's arm. When he had a firm grip he let the line drop and with both hands lifted Ivo up and over the wooden lip of the garbage chute.

"The Saint be praised!" said Gytha. "I'm glad to see you safely with us here Master Ivo."

"I'm glad to be out of that pit," Ivo replied. "What has been going on, oh and Harold, I think this is yours," he handed the halfling the pouch which had been dropped down the shaft.

"It takes someone of proper stature to notice the finer things," the halfling said, taking the empty pouch and slipping it back in his belt.

"Where are we?" asked Ivo.

"In the giants' kitchen of all places," answered Harold.

"So Telenstil was correct, that is good to know," Ivo looked around. He saw the huge tables and shelves, noted the body of the orc on the floor, the blood, now congealing around it and the bloody tracks leading off to the north and around the corner. "This does not seem to be a good place to stay, too exposed."

"We still need to bring the others up," said Gytha. "Harald how is it coming?"

"I'm waiting for the signal, ah! There it is!" the ranger felt the line grow taught and the two sharp pulls telling him to draw it up again.

"Where did the scouts go?" asked Ivo.

"Around the corner. I think they have found another way back down," said Harold.

"And they have both run off?" Ivo could not imagine why.

"I think it was that magic sword, at least for the first one." said Harold. "The other went after his brother. Small loss."

"I do not care for them, but we cannot abandon them either," said Gytha.

"At... the... very... least..." the ranger grunted out as he pulled up the rope.

"Save your breath," Harold told him. The thief felt better having three of his trustworthy companions with him, but, like Ivo, felt too exposed as well standing in the middle of the giants' kitchen.

* * *

"Talberth, what are you doing?" asked Telenstil.

"I'm tying this chain onto the rope," Talberth said. He laced the end of the line through several metal links making a large bundle of the black iron chain.

"You should go up next, they may need you up there," Telenstil told him.

"Do you want to go next?" Talberth asked him. "I don't want to leave this chain behind. I think we may need it."

"We may. Send it up," said Telenstil. "We can gather the packs and send them up next. We still need to get Henri up as well."

Talberth gave a noncommittal grunt, if the Pholtite stayed behind it would be a small loss to him. He gave the line two tugs and was happy to see the chain rising in the air.

***

"Who is it?" asked Harold.

"Can't... tell... stop... ask... ing," the ranger answered.

"Harold, why don't you take up watch at that corner," Ivo said pointing to the south, "and I will watch the other. We can be of little help here."

Harold nodded to the old gnome. "Sounds like a good idea, but if something comes I won't be able to do much more than shout."

"Just giving us the warning will be enough," said Gytha. "Master Ivo, is there anything that I can do?"

"Keep an eye on Harold, I have some magic I can use, but our thief has already done much more in regards to fighting than I had expected from him."

"I will, may the Saint watch over us as well," Gytha prayed. 

***

"Elf, I will free you," Derue said, "but you must make me a promise first."

The cell was dark and damp, the walls bled a slow, clear liquid that stained them white and formed a crusty layer like tears dried on the face of a crying child. Against this was chained the body of an elf, fair but thin, filthy like all else within the cell. His body was a mass of scars, bruises that went from deep black to brown yellow at their ends, long cuts, some thick and white old scars, others fresh, sealed with clogs of drying blood. The elf's hair, once long, was cut short in ragged clumps, the ends of his ears had been sliced away.

"Who are you..." came a gravelly voice, his once light tones changed by strangling chains and ropes that had wrapped his neck.

"I am the brother of one you must swear to protect," said Derue. "But should I bother? Do you have the strength to lift a sword?"

"Free me. I will swear... I have the strength," the elf told him. He strained against his chains and with maniacal strength made them creak and dust fall from the bolts set deep into the wall.

"I am Derue. My brother is Edouard, he lies gravely wounded in the next cell," said Derue. "I free you. Swear to me that you will die before bringing my brother harm or leaving his side."

"I am Ghibelline, I swear by Corellon Larethian, father of my kind. I will not harm your brother or leave his side until my debt to you is paid," growled the elf.

Derue noticed the codicil that the elf attached to the oath and laughed. "Good, you show that your spirit and your mind are still intact and strong. I accept your pledge." Derue unlocked the chains and stood back as the elf fell from them to his knees. He turned and left him on the floor. "Be standing by my brother's side when I return. I will find you a weapon."

* * *

Outside the cells the orcs were milling about. The one who spoke for the others, the Boss, as the orc called Meatstealer referred to him, was waiting for Derue.

"What we do now?" the orc asked.

"Those stairs over there," Derue pointed to the west. "They lead up to the kitchens. There I have companions, and from there we can make our way out of the steading."

"Some o'the boys, they not want to leave," said the Boss.

"Then they can stay. Here give me two swords," Derue said to an orc standing idly near the door to the cells. It looked at him and seemed not to understand. "Stahl, swel stahl, getzt!" he ordered in a rough orcish tongue. It jumped and offered Derue its own blade, then grabbed another from the hands of a nearby orc and handed that to Derue as well.

"You speak orc?" the boss asked surprised.

"I know enough. Now, I am leaving these swords with those in the cells, no one is to bother them. I will kill anyone who does; and I will kill them slowly," Derue drew his sword once again and waved it back and forth before the Boss' eyes. "I command this fire. It will burn the bones of any who disobey my command, they will burn slow, I promise."

The orc gulped and nodded his head. Derue went back into the cells. He handed the swords to Jalal and to the elf Ghibelline, who stood strong, if worn, like a stag, bloodied but not brought down by the pursuing pack. Only Jalal spoke.

"Bring help soon," he said.

Derue nodded, but said no more, he just walked away and left them standing in the half-lit cell. 

***

"That's it. Those are the last of the packs," Talberth said.

"I will go find Henri," Telenstil turned from the pile of gear gathered at the bottom of the shaft.

"Don't be long. They can no doubt use our help up there," replied Talberth anxiously.

"Go up when the rope is dropped back to us," Telenstil told him. "I will go when you have returned, with or without that priest."

Talberth folded his arms and gave his mentor a stern look. Telenstil shrugged, he saw no use in arguing with his former apprentice, Talberth could be a stubborn man.

The room was a disgusting refuse heap, but part of nature's process of decay. The smell was strong and rank, the scent of rotting flesh, the pungent tang of fermenting rinds and husks, death becoming life once more. Telenstil did not enjoy the sight or smell but he appreciated its presence, the balance of a pleasant day, a sunny field, the smell of a forest after the fall of rain. The dank he used to measure his enjoyment of these other things, the dark that balanced light. Light! A blinding flash erupted from an adjacent room. Telenstil turned the corner with care. Inside he saw a heap of empty chests, their edges charred, and amongst the smoking ruin, amid the sharp smell of air burnt by the pass of a lightning bolt, stood Henri, his arms raised to the vaulting roof.

"Henri!" Telenstil called firmly. "It is time to go."

The priest did not reply. Telenstil waited a moment then went back to Talberth, Henri would come or not, but he could do no more.

* * *

"The packs are going up," Talberth said to Telenstil when the elf returned. He was relieved both to see him come back so quickly as well as alone. "That priest!" Talberth thought to himself, he had enough of Henri's arrogance.

"Good, you follow them," said Telenstil.

"No, it's better if you go. If they need help up there you are the one who will be able to do the most," Talberth told him.

* * *

"It's that dratted chain!" Harald declared as he dragged it up and untied it from the rope.

"Talberth would not leave that behind," said Gytha.

"Then he should be the one who will have to carry it," said Harald. The ranger dropped it to the floor in disgust then tossed the line back down the shaft.

Gytha bent and examined the dark links. "It is heavy, but it may provide us with a way out. My poor old mare," her voice was sad and deep. "I shouldn't have brought her on this venture."

"Now we are on foot," Harald said. He waited for the signal from below and leaned against the chutes' wooden edge.

"Yes, that as well," Gytha let the metal link fall from her hand. "How far can we get on foot?"

"Not far," Harald agreed. "But I came here to fight Nosnra and his kind, I won't run."

"I am not talking of running," said Gytha slightly annoyed at the old ranger's words. "Do you doubt my courage?"

"Gytha, I know you. You are not afraid to fight, and die if need be, but you are young, you have something to return to, I have left nothing behind. I am not worried about returning," Harald told her.

"You are unusually grim Harald. Do you seek death?" asked Gytha.

"I seek revenge. We have done little to pay the giants back for what they have done," said Harald.

"There is more to this than Nosnra, you know that. The cold ones are behind it all. Talberth's magic chain may be our link to them," Gytha nudged the black iron with her foot.

"Then we would have to leave our mounts behind in any case," Harald answered back.

"I would rather have set them free. They would have had a chance," Gytha thought a moment. "It may take us more than one foray to satisfy Telenstil. He still searches for something that he has not named."

"Hah, that elf... there is the signal," Harald bent to the task and heaved at the line. "Heavy... load... again."

"At least it is not another chain," Gytha laughed. "In any case we need to withdraw. I need some rest. I know our wizards do as well."

The ranger merely grunted in agreement. His shoulders bobbed back and forth, the coil of rope grew behind him. He had it wrapped once about his waist in case he lost his grip, ready to brace himself against whatever weight was on the other end.

Gytha did not hear the little thief's approach. The halfling ran almost as silently as he walked. "Trouble coming!" he gave a hoarse, whispered shout, throwing his voice across the room. "Giants!" Harold hissed.

"Harald!" Gytha called to the ranger.

"Ivo!" Harald called back. "Get... Ivo!"

***

Gytha ran across the room. She wanted to yell to Ivo but not alert the approaching giants. She hissed at him in a frantic whisper when she was thirty feet away. A few quick strides more and the gnome turned to her. He had been facing the northeastern passage with his back to the others.

"Gytha, what is it?"

"Giants! Harold has seen some approaching," Gytha called to him.

"I have a spell prepared. Quickly, we need to all be near each other," Ivo said to her.

At the chute Harald dared not quicken his pace much more than he had already done. The rope was swinging like a pendulum, the faster he pulled the more it began to arc, any more and he would be banging whoever was coming up against the walls. If they fell from this height he did not believe they would survive. The little thief reached Harald's side and looked on, breathing hard, mostly from fear and excitement, every instinct told him to run and not to stop, but instead he faced the way he had come and drew his sword, waiting for the giants to appear.

Gytha returned and Ivo pelted after, the gnome ran, but his short legs made him slow compared to Gytha's lengthy stride. The cleric stood by the ranger's side, the halfling thief on her right, Ivo was near. He stopped and began to intone his spell. He crushed a sticky wad of acacias gum in his hand and reached out to touch the ranger's arm.

"Hells!" cursed Harold. Before the gnome could cast his spell a giant foot hove into view, followed by a leg and massive body, slate gray skin, grained like stone. The giant froze, taken by surprise at the strange sight, two humans, a halfling and gnome, just before the spell took hold. And in a span quicker than half an eyeblink they disappeared. Two more giants followed behind the first, one bumped into his stalled companion and had to put out his arm to steady himself.

"Windthorst," the giant said in a deep gravelly voice. "Why have you stopped?"

"Be still Wolgast, and you Wedel," Windthorst declared. He held up his hand, the back of his palm to the pair that followed him. "There are intruders here, perhaps the ones the others are looking for. You there!" he called down to where he had seen the little ones standing. "Show yourselves! I wish to parley with you," the giant spoke again, this time in the common tongue.

They had been seen, Ivo knew it, he also knew that these were not Nosnra's kin, but giants of stone. They delved into the oerth and cared little for anything not directly of their kind or related to their craft. Gnomes rarely bargained for these giants' skills and the giants in turn had no need of the craft of gnomes, so Ivo's kind and theirs normally dwelt separately in peace. Ivo willed his magic to be gone but first he walked away from the others and backed a bit further down the kitchen to the north.

"What is it you wish to say?" he asked, appearing before the giant like a puff of smoke when the lid is lifted from a boiling pot.

"Ah, noniz, where are your friends? You must be the ones who have disturbed our sleep tonight and sent our lesser cousins scurrying about," Windthorst said to Ivo.

"Stonelord," Ivo addressed the giant leader, a title which the giant kind bestowed only on their greatest chiefs. "My friends and I are beneath your notice, but we do have a quarrel with your lesser cousins, please do not let me keep you from your slumber."

"What did he say?" asked Wedel, who did not speak any of the smaller peoples tongues.

"Let's squash him," Wolgast said loudly.

* * *

Harold did not wait for another word, he stabbed the giant called Wolgast through the lower calf severing tendons and making Wolgast howl.

"Curses!" Ivo exclaimed, he had been prepared for the giants' treachery if not the halfling's unexpected attack, but he had begun to hope for a peaceful resolution. He saw the halfling appear behind the giant and Harold's sword stab into the giant's legs, then come ripping out again in a spray of blood. In his hand Ivo held some colored sand and with a backhand gesture and a word which only he could hear, the sand flashed forth. A rainbow spray arced out and up into the giants' eyes. Windthorst brought up his arm, he blocked most of the magic from his eyes, and Wolgast had his closed in shock and pain from Harold's attack, Ivo's magic did not affect him at all. Wedel, though, had been peering down at the gnome, he bent into the spray and was struck blind with the colors flashing in his face. The giant roared even as his companion Wolgast did the same.

Wedel lashed out and his flailing arm brushed Wolgast's chest. Below them Harold stabbed the wounded giant again, dancing between the stomping feet, his small body at deadly risk of being crushed.

Gytha grabbed a mallet used by the giants to hammer in the plugs in casks. She tossed it in the air and it appeared at the giants' side as she beseeched the Saint, breaking the enchantment of Ivo's spell. "Cuthbert aid me in this time of need. Give me strength my liege to smite these agents of evil mind," the cleric prayed. The hammer streaked toward the giant's head.

Wolgast was facing Wedel, trying to block his companion's arms when Gytha's bespelled mallet hit. The mystic force opened a pressure cut across his brows, Wolgast saw stars and felt the sting of blood dripping into his eyes, and from below, the warm sharp wounds of Harold's attacks bit into him as well. Three nutshells jangled in Ivo's hand, he cast them at the three giants. Windthorst still had his arms upraised but the force passed through them and entered into his dazed mind. Wolgast struggled with the blind Wedel and neither could resist the power of the spell which overcame them.

At first the situation did not appear to change, Windthorst still stood dazed, and Wolgast struggled with Wedel, but the two giants soon began to fight in earnest. Their hands closed, Wedel brought back his arm and smashed his fist into Wolgast's chest as if he would hammer it down, like a spike into a wall. The thump was loud and solid, it rocked the giant, but Wolgast struck back with better aim. His fist smashed in the giant's snubby nose then he used his other hand and struck Wedel's jaw. Bone splintered like a stone beneath a hammer. Wedel's lower mouth was driven to the side, further than his head would go. He reeled back and Wolgast began to hammer his companions head, he dragged his injured leg along, and leaned into each blow. Left then right, each punch sent Wedel reeling from one side to the other, but he did not fall. What kept him on his feet Harold could not even guess.

The halfling stood and watched, his bloodied sword dangling forgotten at his side. At the chute the ranger huffed away and finally the rope was nearly drawn completely up. "AHHHGGG!" Harald yelled. "Packs!" he screamed. While his friends fought for their lives he had been drawing up the packs like a mindless beast. With one hand he raised them above the wooden lip and tossed them aside as if they were light as feathers, then reached for his weapon. The massive sword, the claidheamohmor, Weland's blade, he had set aside while he drew up the rope. Now he grabbed it and lifted it high. "Miming!" he called its name. 

***

There was a wild fury in Harald's attack unlike his normal calm. He charged the giants with his sword held level at shoulder height, the hilt in both hands and the blade behind his neck. When he reached Windthorst he swung Miming in a wide scything arc that thunked like an axe into a tree as it hit the giant's leg. Windthorst sagged, his leg slipped out from under him and he fell with a crash to the ground. Harald drew back his blade and stepped away from the toppling form. He'd left a bone deep slash that cut through the calf and peeled back the flesh with a butcher's stroke.

Nearby, Gytha smashed at Wolgast again, but the giant was oblivious to the small blows of the spiritual hammer she wielded against him. The giant beat his companion into a senseless pulp. Wedel was pinned with his back to the wall. Wolgast used one hand to hold Wedel up by his grey throat and with the other, now bruised and swollen, he pounded piston-like into Wedel's ruined face. Ivo reached within his vest and from a hidden pocket pulled out a sling. He needed no stone or bullet of lead or steel; he swung the leather strap as if it were loaded and as he did a nimbus of bluish light formed within the holding pouch. Ivo released the enchanted leather cord and the light streaked toward Wolgast but missed him by the breadth of a hand. It struck the wall nearby and hissed against the stone like bacon frying in a pan.

Below the fighting giants Harold had to throw himself aside. Windthorst nearly crushed him with a shoulder wider than an oxen's flank. It brought him to his senses and with the agility of a cat he was on his feet again. He ran up the downed giant's arm and used his small sword to cut the giant's throat. Windthorst tried to struggle but the halfling knew where to place the blade and opened up an artery that stopped the blood from feeding the giant's brain. The spray knocked Harold back and off the awkward perch he had upon the giant's heaving shoulder. The blade flew from his grasp, he struck his head in falling back, smacking it hard against the bony shoulder of the giant. Harold landed on the floor unconscious in a heap, sprayed by a thick grey-red blood that still shot out in jets to match the slowing beat of Windthorst's heart.

Wedel was dead, the bones of his massive face finally broken by the relentless blows of his companions fist. With his death Wolgast gave a massive sigh and put both hands upon Wedel's shoulders. Both giants sank down, Wedel sliding against the wall, a smear of blood painting the stone, following the trail of Wedel's head with a grey-red streak. Both Ivo and Gytha used their magicked weapons to strike the surviving giant before he could turn on them, and turn he did. Like a bear cornered by hounds, Wolgast spun and nearly fell on his badly wounded leg. Both Gytha's hammer and Ivo's magic bullet struck him, but the giant shrugged off the blows, then the ranger attacked as well.

Harald's two-hand sword went in like a spear. It drove through Wolgast's gut and out his back. The ranger was still half mad with fury and it lent a strength almost that of a giant to his blow. Wolgast was driven back and Harald drove his blade further in, he buried it to the quillon block, pressed it against the seeping wound held sealed by the steel trapped within the giant's gut. The point projected from Wolgast's back, it grated across his spine and gouged into the chest of Wedel's body lying dead against the wall. His leg collapsed, Wolgast fell backwards, driving Harald's sword deeper into Wedel's corpse. His hand smacked Harald aside, sending him rolling, and feebly plucked at the sword hilt with dissipating strength. The giant tried to rise; his good leg bent and pushed, but he could not make his wounded one answer his commands. Wolgast could not draw out the sword, could not rise with his wounded leg and the weight of Wedel trapped behind him. He sank back down and moaned, a trickle of blood poured from his lips. Harald was helped to his feet by Gytha who squeezed his arm and felt a deep sorrow at the sight of the wounded giant.

"Harald," she said, "end this quick."

The ranger grunted in reply. He shook himself; his back gave a loud pop as he stretched it. His wrath was gone. The giant still fumbled for the hilt and tried to push the ranger's hands away, but Wolgast was as weak as a human child for all his size. Harald grabbed the hilt with both his hands and tugged, the giant gave a deep painful moan and vomited out a barrels worth of blood. The blade was wedged tight, but Harald summoned all his strength, he braced a foot against the giant's thigh and pulled with all his might. The sword came free, it ground against the giant's spine and Wolgast tried to scream, but his voice was drowned in blood. The huge body slumped forward and Harald used his shoulder to push Wolgast on his side. The giant lived, but blood poured from his wound and came in gobs and torrents from his mouth as he coughed to free his lungs for air. Wolgast had one shoulder on the floor, his back was arched and his forehead was against the stones. Like the executioner of a king, Harald brought his sword down across the giant's neck as Gytha asked the Saint to allow the giant a quick death to end its pain.