The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - 2020 - Part 2

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 2

"Arise!" Nosnra commanded the assembled clan, "Arise and look upon your slain kin!"

A feast was laid out in the Great Hall. Above the roasting pit was spitted a monstrous aurochs bull, now a well-carved skeleton charring slowly over the open fire. Barrels of ale, larger than a tall man, stood at head and foot of every table. Huge slabs of bread, served as edible plates set before each feaster, were buried beneath thick-cut hunks of meat, burnt crisp along their edge, but at heart raw red and dripping blood. Tubs of cabbage mixed with pickled dwarven heads, clean shaved, a rare delicacy among the hills. A dozen separate dishes, some hot and others cold, but most a charnel horror of sentient flesh, human, elven, dwarven, all fair game and sustaining meat among the giant-kind.

At the chief's command each giant rose, benches scraped back across the floor, then every eye, sad and with deep respect, turned toward the pair of dead set before the thegn's high table.

Huon's wife had brought their wedding shield, a huge kite of painted hide and wood, and placed it on his arm. Young Eadnoth had found no mate, instead his brother gave him a wanderer's staff, no runes carved upon it, his betrothal quest unlived, no tale ever to be told. A bread-plate of food was set for them, a huge flagon of ale beside their hands. Their bodies had been washed of blood, their wounds sewn tight and hidden, bloody clothes cut away then taken and soaked in oil. A torch would be made of these rags, wrapped round the wood then set aflame, a kindling wick to light the funeral pyre.

Then each giant was dressed again in their best finery and laid out with reverent care. Each member of the clan, from eldest, Ingigerd the ancient crone, to the youngest suckling babe, paced by the bodies of the dead; They stopped and took a bite of food or sip from flagon or snip of cloth, binding some fragment of their slain kin to the whole of the living kindred.

Engenulf approached them last. He placed the flagon to their lips and poured a tiny sip within, then took a pinch of bread and meat and put it on their tongues. He gently closed their jaws, reached up and shut their eyes then turned to face the gathered crowd and spoke the final words.

"They Sleep!" The witan proclaimed. "Eat, now that they have tasted their last food, drunk their final drink. We celebrate their life, and in their death they become one with all the kindred. All who have lived, all who live now, all who will one day come."

A roaring cheer erupted from every throat; it shook the rafters and the roof, and echoed down the hall. The feast began, the giants set to and soon there came first chortles then choruses of merry laughter. A snippet of a song erupted, flagons filled and emptied quick, a fight broke out, a drunken brawl, a table was overturned, a dozen meals upset.

Nosnra smiled at the sight, his people at play. It warmed his heart. This wrongness he'd felt was gone for now, the dead at rest, all was set aright.

* * *

The morning sun rose over the lowland forests. Its rays burnt away the mist rising from the damp valleys and steamed the fields around the steading dry. Smoke drifted lazily from the open gaps above the great hall and the smell of roasted meat wafted across the hill. Outside, a pack of dire wolves ran free then a trio of giants rounded the far corner wall, one stopped and called to the wolves. They bounded and frolicked, joyful in the warmth of the cloudless day.

Inside the hall the feast was done, the tables cleared, old sawdust and debris swept up and dragged away. A score of orcs, skeleton thin and showing signs of recent wounds, tossed a fresh layer of sawdust across the floor. Those giants who had not been conscripted for patrols or forced to help with morning chores had quickly fled. Most slept, but others readied weapons or dragged out bits of armor; rough hammered grieves, chain shirts, and brightly colored shields. The entrance hall had been washed clean, but up the stairs the dried black pool of Huon's blood was left, a grim reminder for unwatchful guards. Each gaping tower window contained attentive eyes, for now at least, unblinking in the morning light.

* * *

"Ver-find-ingan," Engenulf began his chant, crosslegged, upon the feasting table. Beside him Huon's body lay; one last service to perform. "Ver! Ver!" the magician-priest called forth. He drew a cryptic sign in Huon's blood, first on the dead giant's head, then another on his chest. "Sprek-ver!" the command came harsh and clear.

"I slept," the sepulcher voice exclaimed. It came from Huon's bloodless lips, no muscle stirred, no breath, just a distant speech summoned at the witan's call.

"Ver!" demanded Engenulf.

"I drank, I did not watch. They came... small, children... humans, olven, dwarf... two, three... two, then two, they came... the pain, pain, can't breath... cold, dark... Ogiva, Ogiva...." the voice gave one last plaintive moan and then was silent.

"Rest now," Engenulf kindly said and closed the staring eyes. "You heard?" he asked but did not turn.

"I heard," Nosnra replied. "It's as I thought; the human scum, olves, those foul dwarves from down below... They have killed us in our own hall. Our dead are dishonored."

"No, they died. That is all," Engenulf moved to face his old friend and looked him in the eye. "They are not dishonored in this death."

"I feel it here," the chief pounded on his chest. "The foulness of these creatures, it has washed over them. Their deaths were bad."

"Do not do this..." pleaded Engenulf.

"They cannot rest, they did not watch in life, the will keep guard in death. We will bury them just beyond the outer doors. Come," Nosnra yelled and several warriors appeared. "Take them to the entrance hall, bring picks! And Engenulf... prepare yourself. They will earn their rest, but you must wake them first."

"I obey. No pyre for them yet," Engenulf replied, shaking his head sadly.

* * *

Eadnoth and Huon were not buried deep. Instead they were set beside the wide dirt path at the crest of the hill. The lowlands lay below them, a forest that spread out far as the eye could see, but beyond the trees, the human lands. These two failed watchers would now keep a ceaseless vigilance.

"Nen-slfen, nen-rast, nen-friden," Engenulf cried aloud. His face was drawn and gray; this rite sapped at his spirit and blackened his soul. His voice started high and clear but fell to no more than a whisper. He set upon each grave a brazier filled with a powdered bone, a sliver of flesh cut from each dead giant's hand and marked with a drop of their own blood. As his voice began to fade, a magic fire, white-hot and shooting high, burst forth. It consumed the powdered bone, flesh, blood and braziers too. The flame burned deep within the ground, burned its way into each giant's chest and from the burning hole arose a spirit-cloud that swayed above their shallow graves. A soft whispered moaning word upon each ghostly lip and then as if some breeze took hold, though no wind was blowing across the hill, each wavering form turned into a thinning mist, and then was gone.

"It is done. They guard," Engenulf said and swayed upon his feet. His strength was gone, run out into the spell.

"My friend..." Nosnra said, and reached out a supportive hand, but a howling angry voice broke in upon his words.

"Nosnra! Nosnra! What have you done!" Eadwig came running toward them, a small crowd of giants following close behind.

"Eadwig!" Nosnra shouted back. "Do you command! The right of life and death are mine to choose!"

"My brother, you have dishonored him. Engenulf how could you curse him so?" Eadwig fell to his knees before his brother's grave.

"I, Eadwig, I had no hand in his dishonor. You step too far, your grief is no excuse," The thegn was in a rage. "Your brother died beneath a human's hand. He failed, he slept, like Huon there, he brought his dishonor upon himself!"

Eadwig flushed, his face went pale then suffused with red. His anger was so great he could not speak; a vein pulsed along his neck. He breathed great painful, sobbing heaves. A wordless scream broke from his tortured throat. It hurt the ear to hear. He stood then threw himself at Nosnra.

The chief screamed back. He charged as well and crashed head to head with Eadwig. They collided with the sound of bone on bone, like two proud horned-rams upon a mountaintop.

Eadwig won that first encounter; he knocked the thegn from off his feet and sought to crush his head beneath his broad iron-nailed boot. Nosnra rolled aside and grabbed him by the ankle, then made a sudden twist that tore muscles with a popping sound. Eadwig yowled in pain and fell hard upon his side, but as Nosnra crouched, preparing to rise, Eadwig summoned up more strength from rage, and, with his uninjured leg, sent out a kick that caught the chief across the face.

Nosnra coughed and spat out blood. He shook his head to clear it and the time it cost let Eadwig close, and with both hands he grabbed Nosnra by the throat.

The stunning blow had left him dazed but at the grip of Eadwig's choking hands Nosnra's mind was clear as crystal. He saw a look of manic glee behind his sub-chief's eyes, but with both hands he struck a hammer blow that cracked against the temples of Eadwig's head. The look of glee was wiped away; the crazed eyes rolled up and showed bloodshot whites, the strangling hold was broken. Nosnra struck again, his knuckles thick with scars broke tooth and nose, burst forth in blood themselves as stone-hard skull and jagged teeth rocked beneath the chief's relentless fists.

Eadwig, stunned and gushing blood from mouth and swollen eyes, struck back, but his force was spent, the chief now had the upper hand. Nosnra stood, with two bloody hands wavering above Eadwig's prostrate form, but he did not stop. He used his feet to kick in ribs, break hands and head, till his breath was gone. He paused. Engenulf came to his side.

"Enough?" he asked.

Nosnra spat red frothy blood. He let his breathing calm. "Enough," he answered back. "Does he live?"

"Yes, thegn, but he is badly hurt."

"Take him to the Keeper," Nosnra said in a raw growl.

A pair of young warriors grabbed Eadwig beneath the arms and carried him away.

"He will live or die as fate decrees."

"It is sad work done this day," said Engenulf, watching as Eadwig, still senseless from his beating, was dragged off to a dark bare cell.

***

"It is evil that has come among us," Nosnra stated flatly to his witan. "It is evil that breaks Eadwig's spirit. You are strong Engenulf, and you know much, but you are not your father." He caught the angry flash in his friend's eye. "And I am not Tofig, but I tell you, he would have done as I do now, and Engulfen would have stood beside him."

"I stand beside you." said Engenulf.

"No my friend, you obey me," Nosnra said sadly, "There is a great difference." He cast a lonely eye across the hilltop. The crowd of warriors had dispersed. The majority followed the pair that carried Eadwig to a cell. They were young, as was Eadwig and while loyal to their thegn, the sub-chief was as an older brother to them. Nosnra did not doubt that had the fight gone against him it would be his body, lifeless most likely, that the warriors would be dragging away.

The steading looked peaceful enough; no harm had come to the walls or roof, or to most within, just two of his kindred dead, close as sons,  that he could not allow to rest.

* * *

Once again the chief's hall was filled, but a sober calm had silenced the gathering. Word of Huon's and Eadnoth's fate had spread, as well as the tale of Eadwig's fight, defeat and imprisonment in the dungeon of the Keeper.

The chief saw defiant looks here and there, but these were an older bunch than those who lionized his sub-chief. Many here could have been Eadwig's sire, but even those, older in years, had a fondness and respect for their youthful leader. Few male giant young were of the sub-chief's age, a sickness had come that defied the spells of the aging witan, Engulfen, and babes and mothers both had died. For five seasons young brides had joined the ranks of kindred dead, the pyres burnt on and on. Yet matrons who had birthed before survived, and girl children lived, though only one in three, but each year would pass and not a single son would see an hour's span upon the oerth.

Engulfen aged a year for every kindred dead and in the end he set a pyre, he offered up himself, his life, so that one son might live and break the curse. A wailing babe was born that day, Eadwig, Tostig's son, though he soon became the son of all the clan. His birth saw the end of the deadly spell. Engulfen's sacrifice had proved its worth.

 * * *

"Yes," said Nosnra to the leaders of the clan. "Eadwig has fallen too."

"But chief..." a bald greybeard began.

"There is nothing to be said. It's done, his fate is set. He lives or dies, but his time among the clan is over."

"Exile!" cried Engenulf.

"Had I lost and lived, such would be my fate," Nosnra replied. "Enough! He will be given time, but when he rises and walks again, he leaves."

"But..." Engenulf sought to change his old friend's mind.

"No!" His voice was harsh. "I said enough, I will not hear more. Those who wish may share his fate. Speak now and leave this hall, or raise their hand against me. Who challenges my right to rule?"

He faced them all, defiant and without fear. No voice called out, no giant moved, though some lowered heads or looked away, torn at heart between thegn and kin.

Thiodolf spoke up, "Thegn, none stand against you here," he turned and glowered at some who could not meet his eyes.

"Engenulf," Nosnra called to the witan, "tell of what you have divined."

"Yes, my thegn," he said quietly. Then in a louder voice began his tale. "Human, elf and dwarf, have come among us. Yes, this most of you will already know. I saw nine crows fly past the steading's walls and the spirits of those who died cried out as they went overhead. There are only nine who come against us, nine, but not farmers or herdsmen, not the weak children we have raided and brushed aside. Three crows called out to me and one disappeared. Then another turned into an eagle, then a mighty dragon, and then I saw Eadnoth's face before it too was gone. The last spoke in an eldritch tongue of power and cast a bolt such as a storm cloud makes and burnt at me though only in a vision. Behold!" He held out a black-streaked arm, blistered from palm to chest. "Such power is very great to reach from that spirit realm where visions walk as we do here on oerth."

"What of the other birds?" a wide eyed warrior called.

"Two others called to me and it seemed that each was carried in a great and mighty hand, one blazed with light, a white hot blinding fire that did not scorch the feathered wings it held aloft. The other was a plain sturdy fist, a hand of flesh and bone, but strong and rough, this bird cawed and screeched as any of its oerthly brethren might. The final four were a varied lot, one old, but large, the mightiest of its kind that I have ever seen. A warrior spirit I have no doubt. Two others that wore the shape of the crow but at heart bore a serpent's soul, their tongue and eyes were red as blood. Before they passed out of sight I saw them both set upon the elder bird and strike him by surprise. They fell, all three in a tangled heap beyond the horizon's edge and then they too were gone."

He paused and drank deeply from a pot of ale set by his side. "The last was small, full grown but stunted or from a smaller breed of crow. It weaved and wheeled across the sky, sometimes it lead the flock then fell back and hid behind the others. It was last to disappear but in its beak I saw the glitter of some gem or jewel, and my vision ended there."

"What good does hearing all this do?" asked Gosfrith, keeper of the wolves. "We waste time sitting here."

"You ask such questions?" Nosnra said, "I thought better of our huntsman."

"Huntsman, yes, and that is where I should be, not wasting precious time..." He paused then bowed his head to Engenulf, "I ask your pardon, witan. I mean no disrespect, but the trail goes cold."

"Your wolves found no scent upon the hill, these foul, human scum have hidden their tracks well, ensorceled them no doubt. They're put to better use as guards than running blind down valleys and over hills."

"We will find their scent," Gosfrith said. "Hidden trail or no, I do not believe they have covered every track. My pets will sniff them out if you will but allow it!" His voice ended in a shout.

"Watch your tongue! My patience is worn thin. I have had enough rebellion for one day," Nosnra shouted back. "Hear what Engenulf has said. This was no flock of birds that sit and peck upon a field of grain. He has all but named them. We know their number and have heard and seen something of their strength. Wizards, yes, and servants of some mortal gods it sounds, and warriors, brave and bold enough to hunt us in our own domain. They have killed by stealth and dweomencraft, I have no doubt that they will come again, and soon. I will not have you chasing rabbits when you should be here."

He stopped and watched the faces of his warriors. In some he saw his words sink in but others looked incredulous or showed sour disappointment. "Some here have fought such as these before down below in human lands. Some have broken dwarven halls and squashed the burrowing rats beneath your feet, but also felt the stings of spears or lost a finger, toe or hand to an axe's edge. I have seen them call upon their stunted gods or summon powers of the oerth or walking walls of fire. Yet many here have never faced the like and cannot know the strength within these tiny childlike beasts."

"Listen to your thegn!" Engenulf said, commanding their obedience. "This gap between the young and old, between those who fight now for the first time against a dangerous foe and those of us who have bled beneath a human's sword or elven spear or been cut down by a dwarvish axe, this disunity must end!" 

Chapter II - Nine Against The Giants

The cave was cold, no matter what that pious, pompous, Pholtite said to the contrary. Harold Goodwine shivered though he was wrapped in a thick-furred blanket of a cape. The halfling was not used to these damp and freezing climes. He had been born in Geoff but raised in the hub of the Oerth, the gem of the Flanaess, greatest of cities; Greyhawk. Eating a hot meal in a warm house was what he should be doing and where he would rather be on such a day as this.

"Watch that cape, and your feet. You'll have them in the fire next!" A deep bass voice called. Harald Hardhand towered over most men but he was a true giant in the eyes of the other Harold. The two were as different as they were fast friends. The halfling, painfully thin, by his standards, small even according to his people, no warrior but a sneak-thief, an unrecognized master of his craft. He dressed in the most appallingly garish colors, and, besides a desire for wealth, had an overwhelming fondness for jewels and gems of all sorts. Harald was broad, almost of dwarven build around shoulders and chest, but on two tree-trunk legs. He was a head taller than the wizard Talberth, a skinny youth, at least as viewed from the distance that thirty or so years had put between them, but the young mage was tall and thin as a sapling. Harald's hair, what was left of it, was brown with thin lines of silver-grey running through. He had it pulled back in a long tail and tied it with leather cord. His whiskers and drooping mustache were streaked with age among the reddish-brown. A long white patch went through his beard. It followed the course of a scar that ran from edge of jaw to top of hairless pate. His other scars, a crisscross of old wounds, did not show. He wore a dark brown-green pair of trews, a brick-red stripe edging the tartan blocks. A wondrous silver-metal shirt of chain, enchanted with a smith-wizard's spell, he hid beneath a much patched tunic, a grey-green cloak thrown over both.

"At least I'd be warm for a change," the halfling grumbled back, but pulled his feet and cloak away from the smokeless yellow flame.

Across the fire sat another unlikely pair. An ancient gnome, his long broad nose projecting from a face hidden in a thousand wrinkled lines of flesh. Bushy brows over deep set eyes, a wave of long white hair sprouting from beneath a metal cap; Ivo of Pondsend, a magician of great power. He talked in earnest with a red-haired warrior-maid, a cleric of staunch faith who wielded a stout length of wood, her patron's choice and talisman. Gytha Fireheart, St. Cuthbert's loyal shepherdess. Beyond them the holy priest of Pholtus, Henri, blinded by his God's shining light but gifted with a blank-faced sun-rayed mask that let him see among the realms of men. He sat still and silent, communing with his deity. To his side, near the far wall, a stable had been improvised; a line of horses, a small pony, and some hearty mules exhaled steaming plumes of frigid air and huddled in the cold. Two wizards, cloaked and robed in black with silver edge, both appearing young, the one from lack of years upon the Oerth, the other a high-elven face that looked both youthful and ageless, no mark of passing time but a sense of sorrow that time can bring even to a carefree heart. Talberth, young but of some renown, a human mage, he rested a long-fingered hand upon a shivering horse's flank. With a small spell, a cantrip of no note, he sent a pulse of warmth from his palm and soothed the wordless plea for heat. Telenstil, a high-elven wizard, pale-haired and fair, he stood at Talberth's side, his head reaching only to the shoulder of the young mage, they talked of the past night's work.

"That was Nosnra, I am sure. We could have killed him there, Edouard should not have fled," Talberth complained.

"I disagree, my friend," the elf began. "Nosnra it might well have been, but he is no easy one to kill. I have met him before and I will meet him again, but with all that I have learned, what deadly spells and charms that I have here, I would not face him alone, not by choice. Our brave scout would have been slain to no effect, had he summoned our help, so the giant chief would have summoned his, and it is no pitched battle that we have come to fight."

"You are my master and I but your apprentice," Talberth humbly bowed.

"Come now, no need for false humility. I taught you well, but that was some years ago, you are your own master, and though I lead this expedition you are a colleague and partner, an equal among our group," Telenstil waved a graceful arm to sweep across the room.

Talberth could not help but glance, he saw them all, the two Harry's, Henri, Ivo, fair Gytha, his heart gave a trembled beat, and the albino twins, their scouts, Edouard and Derue. An angry thought stirred within him at the sight, he had a strong dislike for the white-skinned, pink-eyed pair.

"We are nine against a giant brood," Telenstil continued. "We must stay together to face their strength. It will take our united skills to accomplish what we must."

"I would see them dead, but I know as well as you that we seek a cause for their newly well-thought-out attacks, their gathered strength and cautious raids. These are not the giants that I was taught of in school."

"We are far from the Grey College's halls," Telenstil said smiling. "There is much that a book or scroll will say that is no more than the guesswork of some nameless sage. Here we will see what is not and what is said to be. Prepare yourself, and because I have seen these things before, please watch where I may lead."

"I will, have no doubt," said Talberth, "but what have we learned that was not known before? They bleed, a torrent in fact, a sharp blade can end their life as easy as any man's."

"An unlucky stone thrown by a passing cart can end the life of most men," Telenstil replied, "Those two last night, they died beneath a magic blade, drunk and spelled to sleep, a prayer of silence surrounding all that transpired. Had they woken it would have been a fight worth telling of when we return to civilized lands. No, last night we had the Lady on our side. It took just minutes for the alarm to sound and the entire steading to be roused and set to search."

"We saw only the entranceway, their tower and a few feet of that monstrous hall. I do not feel the Lady looked at us in kindness," Talberth shook his head.

Telenstil laughed, light and mild, a cheery pleasant sound, "Oh youth, you expect too much. We came, we went, and no one died; no injuries, not even a pursuit of any kind. That is kind fate indeed. I will not argue that we could have discovered much more, but what we saw, it proves our information right. The map that we have, it tallies with what we have seen. And of much more import, we worked well together. Look at us," he waved his hand again. "A Cuthberite sits near a praying Pholtus priest, a city bred halfling thief, a hero of renown, a pair of mercenary scouts, a gnomish master of deceiving spells, you and I, what an unlikely gathering."

"Working for an alliance of kings," Talberth said with a doubtful tone, "we are a mismatched group as you say. I for a duke, you for your queen, though her interest here seems far astray from her own lands."

"We elves have eyes that see quite far," came Telenstil's good-natured reply. "Or didn't they teach you that in school?" 

***

"How did you cause Edouard to change into that giant's form," Gytha asked in a light, alto voice.

"It was the simplest of spells," answered Ivo with pride, replying in a deep grating rumble, each word a rocky sound, but clear and sharp like the edge of fresh cut stone. "Back home, among the hills, we live by such masking spells. Our warriors are doughty but our enemies are large and many. Such illusions are but a word, a gesture and a speck of colored dye."

"They are a wonder to me," she said wide eyed. "I have a simple faith, and with the Saint's boon I am granted such answers to my prayers as he deems me worthy to receive, but I have never seen the like of spells such as yours."

"Have ye not?" the old gnome asked surprised.

"Oh," she laughed, "I have seen mage's spells before, and druids' cause the oerth to rise and take on human form, but not these magics which trick the eye or blind it. And more, I do not trust my senses now that I have seen you cast your spells."

"Hey there!" called Harold from across the fire. "Don't let him deceive you with his simple talk. I've seen him on a midwinter night casing spells from upon a stage set at the center of Greyhawk's High Market. He lit the sky with colored lights that swirled and changed, then came alive. First monsters walked from roof to roof, great dragons danced in pairs above then a rain of sparkling mist chased them all away. Next a land formed, the empty curve of the Selintan before a brick or stone was laid, then against the river a small wooden house, a wall of wood then stone sprang up around it. Then a castle keep, and like a season's growth of grain shown from seed to harvest in a moment's time, the city grew and grew until mirrored in the sky above were all those below upon the ground." The halfling gasped for breath and laughed at his memories of such a spectacle. "Then it all changed and there was Zagyg's face, laughing down at us, he blew us all a kiss and stuck out a tongue that could have lapped the river dry. Oh what fun it was, the Fool was crowned and the mad night begun."

"Now, now master Harold," the old gnome almost blushed at the praise, "no need to tell old tales."

"You need some of that gnomish Stonesweat brandy you drank that night," Harold laughed.

"Just a small drop is all I had, to keep out the night's chill," Ivo replied.

"A small drop for one of these giants, maybe," Harold turned to the Cuthberite priestess. "I take it you have never seen the grandest city of the Oerth."

"Oh, I've been to Gorna," Gytha answered innocently.

"Gorna, oh you poor, untraveled lass," Harold cried in a pitying voice. "Greyhawk would fit a dozen Gorna's within its walls and have room to spare."

"I've heard bard's tales of course, but a city's greatness is more than just its size," she replied.

"Well said," interrupted Ivo. "Greyhawk holds many wonders, but the hills of my homeland are much more dear in my eyes than any of the city's halls or palaces."

"Oh, the shame, that such a wonder worker as yourself fails to recognize the greatest wonder of the Oerth!" Harold despaired.

"That's enough of that," Harald's bass voice declared. "Pardon this little Harold's unrelenting love for his adopted home. He was born in Geoff, same as you and me," he told the red-haired cleric. "North of the Hornwood, was it not my friend?"

"I was but a lad. I had no choice!" the halfing Harold replied.

"Careful there!" The bigger Harald warned. "You do not say that Geoff is a birthplace to bring on shame!"

"No, no..." Harold stuttered, raising his hands in mocking fear to ward off his old friend's wrath.

"Yes, you were too young to be taken away from such a noble place of birth. No better land to raise the young exists," declared Harald.

Gytha laughed. "No wonder such an unlikely pair as these two are such friends. You are as just as bad," she waved a playful finger at the greying hero. "What can master Ivo here think of us; I'm sure his own Kron Hills are just as fair."

"My apologies, Master Gnome," Harald gave a deep formal bow.

"And mine as well," the halfling stretched out a leg and doffed an imaginary cap, in a graceful gesture of respect.

Both Ivo and Gytha laughed at the ridiculous sight of the huge ranger and the tiny halfling thief bowing together like the most unlikely twins.

***

"Gather round," Talberth called them all together. "Reverent Henri, if you will, please lower the fire so we may all gather close."

The blind priest walked unerringly across the cavern's floor. The hood from his long, white robe hung halfway down his face; beneath it shown the glimmer of some golden mask, a benison from his radiant god. He did not deign to speak but silently held out his arms then lowered them with perhaps a wordless prayer. The bright flame sank until it danced across the embers of the wooden log, still bright and warm but less than half its former size.

"Edouard, Derue!" he summoned the guards from their post. "We have set a magic ward, no need for you to be apart."

The white-blond pair bowed head to head and whispered to each other first then nodded in agreement.

All nine now sat in a rough circle round the low blaze. The albino pair sat side by side, the Pholtite priest Henri, though only a foot or so away, sat apart, removed and distant.

"We did well," their high-elf leader began. "Now we must plan what our next step will be."

"I have said this to Telenstil," Talberth spoke up, "and I want to say this again to all. Last night I feel we could have done much more. Our surprise is gone and all that it seems we have achieved is to thin their number by two."

A grumble of voices broke out though none much louder than the rest.

"True," said Telenstil. "We took only our first steps, but this will be no easy undertaking, no simple task. Last night we could have stumbled upon more vigilant guards, or fought against the entire giant clan. Though each of us has proven their worth and comes upon this endeavor with royal support, these giants are very dangerous foes. This clan alone could smash a castle or defeat a small army. And these are but the vanguard. Nosnra is the head of a much larger beast."

"Nosnra is not the head!" a stentorian voice declared. The silent Henri spoke and all turned to see and listen to his prophetic tones. "He is but a hand, the first to reach out and smash into the realms below his hills. Holy Pholtus gives me sight. His light reveals a darker will that heads this giant chief."

"Yes," said Telenstil. "I misspoke. My lady queen says such may be as well. Were it simply Nosnra, though a mighty giant chief he be, this would be an easier task. His death may blunt a deadly sword but more than just his kind have been seen in the lands below."

"I have seen such," declared the cleric Gytha. "My flock dwells among the hills and outlands of my homeland, Geoff. I say my flock, as I am a shepherd to my people, but the wolves have come and my people are no more; empty homes where those who lived have fled, and burnt remains of those who would not. They died among their herds and fields or lie among the ruins of house and home. And some are simply gone. If any do survive perhaps they are kept within Nosnra's wooden walls."

"Tell them of these others," the greybeard Harald said to Gytha.

"My pardon," she bowed her head. "I pursued these wolves with Harald here and others, rangers of the hills and woods. We caught a drunken straggler, these giants love their drink. This one had swigged a barrel of three-winter cider thinking it but mild ale. It felled him like the Saint's own cudgel. We bound him tight, trussed him like a hog for slaughter then made him talk. The Saint pardon my deception, but even such as that giant, drunken lout I could not have slain helpless as he was, but I saw no harm in letting him believe his slow, painful death was near," she paused for breath.

"These others..." prompted the small Harold.

"I beg your pardon once again," Gytha gave a thoughtful frown. "I am no teller of tales. I know how only to begin and say what I have to say till I am done."

"Please go on, we will not interrupt," Talberth said and gave a dark look across the fire at both halfling and aging hero.

"My thanks," she said and smiled so to cause Talberth a painful fluttering within. "This giant, he talked; the ranger Arawn could speak and understand their gravelly tongue. He bragged and boasted, still half drunk, he cursed us vilely, but spoke of his great chief, a cousin to this Nosnra, Karnash he named his chieftain to be. He told how at their hall they had hosted strong allies for a war to come. They had cleaned out an ice-cooled cavern, a storage place for fresh killed meat, and made it into sleeping chamber for their blue-skinned guests."

"Frost giants," Harald, disregarding Talberth's word, broke in.

"Yes," Gytha continued. "And such, this giant said, had come along with him that very day. They could be no more than an hour or two ahead."

"A giant's step is very wide, no need to say, I know," Harald began his tale. "Two hours lead," he laughed, "we never would have matched their pace let alone overtaken them, but they were drunk, just like the one we'd caught. We found three giants, blond-haired and blue-skinned. They sweltered in the cool air, but sang and stumbled and passed a barrel back and forth. They made these giants here look like unshaven, untried youths. Half-blind drunk they fought and came close to killing me. They downed three rangers out of five. They fought with boulders and with bare hands, clumsy as any tavern drunk could be, but dangerous still like an avalanche, a force of nature, like a winter storm they were. We killed them all, no chance to capture. I brought back a splendid head," Harald smiled, "Pickled it in that three-winter apple wine."

***

"Frost giants," Telenstil said. "They've come down from their frozen heights before to raid. This is different. What did we find last night?"

"Those snow white pelts," Harold spoke up, "and chitin plates from an ice worm."

"How did you know?" asked Gytha. "I thought you but a city dweller?"

"I am a thief," Harold said proudly. "Where do you think your furs and precious hides end up? I know the goods that I purloin, such furs adorn the oligarchs and their kin, those chitin plates command high price. I know their going rate, as of a month ago," he sadly said; "Oh to be back in Greyhawk once again."

"So," Telenstil went on, "another link between these giants and their frozen kin. What else?"

"The cloaks of hill giants from many tribes," the large Harald declared. "I saw three sets at least from as many different clans."

"How can you tell? Their smelly cloaks look all the same to me," said the little Harold. 

"You judge what weight in gold these skins can bring. I find more worth in knowing who I fight. The northern clans, they wear the skins of great brown bears, the same as Nosnra's kin keeps as pets. One tribe leaves the skull attached; they use it as a clasp. All others make a hooded cloak and cut the bear skull off. Another sews a second skin inside the first, so they can have soft fur against their own skin. Another uses an aurochs' bull...." Harald went on, but stopped at Gytha's laugh.

"I feel no shame at my poor telling now," she said.

"Will you make us sit through a lesson on giant's cloaks throughout the day?" Harold asked bemused.

"Such a lesson could well save your life," the greybeard firmly warned.

"And it is information we have come here for," Telenstil spoke up. "So hill giants of many tribes, those who wear the skin of bears are not welcome in these lands, but here they are. Frost giants are made welcome and guested at a hill giant hall; some gathering of giant kind or worse."

"You know more than you say," said Ivo.

"Guesswork and suspicions," Telenstil replied. "We need not share the private words that our patrons have entrusted us to keep. I can say that my queen suspects what our holy priest has said. Nosnra is the nearest arm of some grasping plot that reaches out toward our respective lands. If we cut it off... I will use plainer speech. If we kill Nosnra, if we destroy his clan, it will not be enough." From a pouch he pulled forth a wooden board, he slid a sharp fingernail between its sides and split it open in two even halves. One piece he put down and the other he held up to show the gathering. A silvered mirror it appeared, but no reflection could be seen within its face. "With this device I relay our discoveries to my queen, such as those things we found last night. She is sworn to tell your duke, and he the others in this alliance of realms that we embody."

"Pholtus knows all that I do, by his grace and radiant light," voiced Henri.

"The Saint hears my prayers," Gytha said not to be outshown. "As he hears all who seek his aid."

"But what good is such?" the halfling asked.

"We need not fear that all our efforts will be lost," said Telenstil.

"I for one plan on telling my tale before a gathered crowd back home," Harold did not like such talk of loss and fear. 

***

"So we know what to expect," said Harald.

"No, we do not," Talberth said slowly. "We know that this is not a simple hill giant clan raiding the lowlands. All we really know is to expect more than our previous experience with these giants has taught us."

"And such knowledge is worth a great deal," said Telenstil, directing the conversation once again. "We will not walk blindly into a situation which puts our mission in jeopardy. Last night, our preparations and caution proved their worth. Our scouts did their job admirably. They allowed us to retreat without a confrontation that would not have been to our advantage. While we only brought down two of a great number of foes, these two were eliminated at no cost to our limited resources..."

"Magic.,." Harold interrupted.

"Yes, magic, but also ourselves," continued Telenstil. "We nine are our greatest resource. I have been given some items of power that once used will be used up. I know the same has been done for some of you, but while such items are helpful, even invaluable, each one of us in ourselves is a greater resource, and as a group we are stronger than all nine of us individually. None of us were injured last night, and two of the giants were slain. Believe me when I say that this was a great achievement."

"But now the steading is alert..." said Talberth, still upset that they had not achieved greater things on their first try.

"It was inevitable," Telenstil replied. "Now we must show greater ingenuity in our plans than simply walking in the front door."

"Have you a plan?" asked Gytha. "I value plain speech. You sound as if you have a plan already."

"I try to keep several options open at all times," said Telenstil good humoredly, "but yes, my feeling is that we are unlikely to accomplish our mission, to both hinder or destroy Nosnra and his clan, and find out about this alliance he has undertaken as well as his plans, in one foray. Because of that I have thought of ways to enter and renter the steading. Here is what I propose. Tonight we enter again. With both Henri's and Gytha's help we will cause a stillness to descend upon a section of the steading. Master Ivo will conceal us from sight. Talberth and I will help bring us to the steading's roof. I have the means of obliterating a small section of the thick beams, and if my map is correct we will descend into the emptied kitchens of the steading. From there, well my feeling is to scout more, to proceed with stealth, set traps. I have brought several magical sorts. There is also a meeting room which Nosnra uses. My source speaks of a map. I wish to see it at least, steal it; copy it, perhaps."

"All this sounds fine," said Harald, "but we are going to actually fight these giants at some point aren't we?"

"You will get that wish, do not doubt," said Telenstil.

* * *

They left the camp unguarded, or at least it might so appear, but Talberth and Telenstil both set wards. The Pholtite Henri and master Ivo both claimed that no eye but theirs could see it now. Then not to be outdone the old gnome crafted a spell of misdirection and spun it around the cave.

Night had fallen once again, cold and misty, but no rain yet. It would come, Harald thought, these hills were said to be the birthplace of all the mists and rains which fell across the lands below.

* * *

The middle of the night had passed. The hill was never completely silent but a stillness had come over the steading. Around the outside of the walls a patrol of wolves and giants circled endlessly. Nine dark shapes moved up toward the top of the hill. They avoided the main roadway but approached along its course from the south, having a rough time crossing the weed and bramble strewn field. The largest of them, Harald, moved swift and quiet through the clinging brambles, the small Harold followed close behind.

Harald was a ranger of Geoff. He knew well how to move almost undetectably through such thorny terrain. The halfling Harold was a city thief, but he had passed through enchanted gardens and climbed protective hedges more than once in his life. He noted the ranger's deft movements, his instinctive reaction to each snag or pinch of thorn, and mimicked them as best he could.

"There it is," whispered Harald as they crested the hill.

"Look, they have their hounds running loose," the halfling said. "Not to worry though, I have a charm that prevents such dogs from catching our scent." he touched a chain which hung around his neck and pulled a coarse cloth bag from beneath his shirt.

"I have one as well," the ranger smiled and removed a large pouch he kept at his belt. He opened it and showed the halfling thief.

"What is it?" Harold asked.

"Pepper," the ranger laughed quietly. "Better than most magic charms I've come across. Sets them running when they get it in their snouts. Wolves or dogs, they hate the stuff." He closed the pouch tight and placed it back within his broad leather belt.

The halfing inched ahead and, as he put a hand upon the flat ground above the hill's gentle slope, a keening wail was loosed.

* * *

A shudder ran through Engenulf. He lay asleep upon a narrow cot deep below the steading's wooden floor. The dead guards had given voice. He could feel their cry. Their killers had returned.

***

"What in the many Hells was that?" Harold asked.

"Just that, or so it sounds," the human Harald said.

The wail came again and was joined by another voice. The wolves across the field added a chorus of yips and yowls then wailed as well. From beyond the steading's walls the pack joined in, then a metal gong began to sound.

"That buggers it," the halfling said, "time for us to be gone."

The ghostly wails increased and two misty forms, they glowed a pale silver like trapped moonlight, drifted across the hill from their right.

"That doesn't look good," Harold said, then the halfing turned and ran down the way he'd come. The ranger Harald paused and scattered a generous portion of his pepper bag across their path, then followed after his halfling friend.

* * *

Halfway up the hill's southern slope seven human-sized shapes lay in wait for their scouts to return. The eerie call from above sent a stir through each, one standing up, another straining forward, each clutching at a weapon, some item of power or symbol of their faith.

"Gytha!" Talberth stood and grabbed the cleric's arm.

She pulled the wizard's hand away and turned with a fury in her eyes.

Talberth drew back, but in an instant regained his commanding demeanor. "Gytha. Hold! We need to stay together not go rushing ahead alone."

A wild look left her face and she bowed her head. "My apologies," she said.

Then another wail reached them, and then a wild chorus of yowls and barks and a clanging metal gong rang out.

"Prepare yourselves!" Telenstil called out. "Talberth, you remember that spell of fire I taught you some time ago, I hope."

"Yes master Telenstil. I know it well," Talberth said and pulled a stinking brown and yellow pea-sized ball from a pocket at his belt.

* * *

Nosnra had not slept. When the dogs began to howl and the warning alarm sounded he was awake and dressed, sitting upon the edge of his bed and staring at the wall. A lethargy had come over him, so unlike his nature, but these evil times had drained him and neither sleep, which would not come, or drink, of which he'd had too much, could fill him with his accustomed vitality.

* * *

Harald gave up any attempts at stealth and ran down the hill as fast as his long legs could carry him. He soon over took his halfling friend and as he went by, reached down, and lifted him by Harold's hooded cape.

"Hey! What the..." Harold yelled, his legs kicking madly in the air. "Lemme go you lummox."

"Ha!" laughed Harald. "You're too slow. You owe me for this."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure to pay you back," the halfling said, then let loose a torrent of curses and swears.

* * *

"What is that!" Talberth cried. He drew back his hand and prepared to cast his spell.

"Hold!" Telenstil commanded, "It is our scouts. They are returning."

A single large shape came hurtling down the hill and close behind two misty clouds drifted by, but with purpose and direction. They seemed unrushed but gained upon the retreating form.

"Gytha, Henri," Telenstil called them forward. "Those shapes, they have a giant's form, some spirits of their dead. They seem to have awoken them."

"They are those who fell to our hand," Henri said, his voice an even unoerthly tone. "They have not seen the light. I will set them to rest or cast them into the outer dark." He threw back his obscuring cape revealing his white shimmering robe beneath and on his face, a golden mask with eyes of clear diamond, their facets sparkling with a rainbow glow.

Harald, holding the halfling thief, came leaping down the hill and skidded past. Then Henri stepped out and faced the ghostly mist. He raised both arms and as he did the sun appeared to rise. Its light blazed from his mask. Most was blocked by his own body, but still the others in the group had to turn away or hold an arm or shield before their eyes. Talberth had a bare glimpse of Henri's body, his skin translucent red, his skeleton dark within. A wail, mournful and despairing poured out, and then fell away as if it dropped slowly down into some well or pit, another cry, but this one harsh and defiant still. It went on, then drew off too, but did not fade entirely.

Talberth blinked a red and purple blob away that haunted him eyes shut or open wide. Henri stood, but slumped, his arms fallen to his sides. It was night once more upon the slope.

"I could not save them," Henri said with sadness in his voice. "One is gone, cast out into the dark, the other resists but had to flee the True God's light."

"You did well," said Telenstil then suddenly caught sight of giants, dark against the starry sky, just cresting the hill and coming down toward them. "Talberth, prepare to cast your fire spell!"

The sound of howling, unnoticed while the wraith-like forms approached, came to them now, and then it changed. There were sharp yips of pain, and loud cursing giant voices.

"They've trailed too close," Harald panted; his breath short after his hurly burly run.

The halfling laughed. "Your 'magic' pepper is a potent artifact."

"What is this?" Talberth inquired, always eager for knowledge of his craft.

"Just good black peppercorn, ground rough, the same you'd use upon your dinner meat," Harald explained.

"It's not stopping our giant friends," Gytha called them back to their approaching foes.

A half-dozen giants had begun a quick descent. They knew this hill, every inch, no gopher hole or gully, would take them by surprise. They made quick time and, with a stride no human could ever match, ate away the distance between themselves and the runts they'd come to kill.