The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 51

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - Part 51

Harald took them to the gibberlings' path, a wide ravaged section of woods as if a river of knives had flowed past stripping the bark from the trees and leaving the brush shredded to no more than bare sticks, like a fleshless skeleton, behind.

Ghibelline laid his hand upon the bole of tree left bare, "These are slain; there will be nothing but the corpses of trees all along these monsters' trail."

"Do they eat everything?" asked Harold shocked at the devastation.

"No, they only eat flesh, but they slash and gnaw at everything in their path," the ranger explained. "I have only seen them twice before, never in such numbers as this. Those times were not this bad. Yes, these trees are dead, but the brush will grow twice as thick without their roots sucking the nourishment from the ground, or the leaves hiding the sun."

"The death of one is the life of another," said Ghibelline.

"The Oerth Mother's plan," nodded the ranger in agreement.

"Just as long as those monsters are eating trees and not me, then I'm happy," Harold said.

"Well since you are so happy you and your shadow can come with me," Harald told the thief, "Ghibelline, can you make sure that there are no tracks left behind?"

"I'll do my best," said Ghibelline, "I never thought I'd find myself hiding the tracks of orcs."

"Are we ready?" Telenstil asked walking over to where the ranger stood.

Talberth followed close behind, his bruises were just a light brown and yellow pattern on his face, around his eyes and nose.

"Whenever you say," Harald told him, "but we'd best make it soon." He reached out and put his hand on Telenstil's arm. "We could go north as we planned, or let Ghibelline scout the trail and I will head east to see where these monsters are."

 "North might be safer, but I have not changed my mind," said Telenstil. "There is a risk no matter where we go, the north may lead to more trouble, yet we know that the way that the gibberlings have come is clear."

"What about trailing them?" asked Harald.

"I feel we need you with us more than knowing where they have gone."

"Well then, if that is how it is then I'm off, I'll take these two with me, and I've asked Ghibelline to make sure we leave no trail," Harald said, first pointing to the thief and Little Rat then toward Ghibelline.

"Send Harold back to us every so often, that way we will know that all is well," Telenstil instructed.

"Right," the ranger nodded agreement then waved for the halfling and the orc to follow him as he set off down the trail of devastation left by the gibberlings. It was like traveling a field of grain with the harvest left atop the stubble to rot. Harald showed the pair how he wanted them to walk, following the trail where the gibberlings had made the deepest marks.

"Step where the ground is firmest, try not to leave your own steps showing," Harald told them.

"I know how to not leave a trail, even in the woods, and I've spent the last two months keeping out of the giants' way, we'll be fine," the thief assured him.

"Then I'm going to go on ahead. You two sit and wait for the others every so often, I'll do the same or double back and check on you," said Harald. "If I'm gone for more than a hand's worth of the sun," he put his broad palm up toward the sky, "three of your hands, then go back to Telenstil and say to him that there is trouble ahead and he'd better go north."

"What about you?"

"Anything that catches me and keeps me from coming back will get you as well," Harald told him plainly. "You make sure that Telenstil goes north." 

***

The path that the gibberlings had taken led back to a ravine. Harald looked down into its depths but he could make nothing out. The sun was past its noon and the light did not reach more than a few feet between the narrow walls.

Destruction reigned along the eastern edge of the forest. A steep trail rose from the ravine at that side, the gibberlings had followed it up, Harald could see the tracks. They had set off straight as the flight of an arrow once leaving the ravine, only changing direction to follow the course of the terrain.

"Like a river," Harald mumbled to himself. He thought about turning back, finding Telenstil and the others but he'd left Harold and the orc only a short time ago, there was time enough for some exploring before they would become concerned.

The south-west wall was lower than its opposite side. Harald could see where the oerth had fallen away; the crevice was not old, perhaps formed during the past spring when the melting ice carved out gullies and streambeds down the mountainside. Maybe a pocket had opened up beneath the oerth, or a cavern collapsed and the ground sank in to fill it. Whatever had occurred, the ground had split and from it the gibberlings had spewed forth.

Harald closed his eyes and stepped from the sunlit path into the gloom between the ravine's walls. He kept them closed for a few moments till they became adjusted to the dark. There was a little light, but soon even that was swallowed by an impenetrable black. With only his hand to guide him Harald took a small tinder box from his pack and drew out a short-handled torch, just long enough to keep his fingers from being scorched by the flame. A piece of goatskin was wrapped around its head, beneath was an oiled cloth that ran with blue at the touch of a few sparks of flint and steel. The torch burst into flame, yellow-orange, illuminating the dark. The path was steep indeed; a few more steps and it became an almost vertical drop, like a well, deep and dark, no end in sight. Harald waved the torch above the shaft, putting his head over the edge and peering into the depth. The flames showed deeper shadows, grooves cut along the sides. The gibberlings had used their claws to scratch away the stone and form a crude ladder to climb the shaft. The beasts were small, about the size of dwarves, but they had long hands and big feet that ended in a pair of large toes. They'd cut their ladder deep enough for Harald to use and he began his climb.

First he smothered the flame with the wrap of hide then put it within his pack. Now he was blind, the dark was absolute; he used his sense of touch to feel his way down. There were more grooves set in the wall than he needed, the gibberlings were small; Harald's reach was long. The way was easy but the descent took time, a quarter hour passed before Harald's foot struck the bottom of the shaft. The air was thick with the smell of the monsters, but there was something else. Harald breathed slowly though his nose and let his mind sort through what his senses brought in. A brood smell, the monsters' waste, their sweat and dander. Mold: a slightly damp smell, rotting wood, the smell of oerth. A breeze: something moving the stale air. He put his finger to his mouth and wet its tip, then held it up. The cooling skin let him feel the draw of air up the shaft. Carefully he drew out torch and tinderbox again, took away the goatskin wrap and struck the flint. A low whistle escaped from him, a quick intake of breath over his teeth. The cave was much more than he expected it to be.

* * *

"Quiet," hissed Harold.

"Sorry," Little Rat apologized. The young orc put a hand to his brow. He'd been making a groaning sound, the sun overhead made him feel sick. The dungeon had been dark and cool, glad though he was to be free from the giants, he did not like the hot day or the burning light.

They weaved their way through the broken underbrush trying to leave no tracks that could be detected among the gouged and trampled oerth. Harold kept them moving over felled trees or rocks, over anything that that would show no sign of their passing. They found a hard strip of clay baked solid by the sun that lay along the edge of the trees just clear of the wreck and havoc left behind by the gibberlings. It was like running across the rooftops back in Greyhawk. Harold felt nostalgic at the feel beneath his toes. The destruction came to a sudden end, the pair found themselves at the edge of a ravine, a dark narrow crack in the oerth. The ranger must have come this way, Harold cursed.

"You ninny!" he said aloud.

"What I do?" asked Little Rat.

"What? ...Oh nothing, you didn't do anything," Harold peered into the dark; he could see a little beyond the small area lit by the waning sun, he thanked his mother's kin for the nighteyes he possessed. "That cursed ranger has gone down there no doubt."

"We go too?" Little Rat sounded pleased. The cool dark called to him.

Harold thought for a moment. He should go back and tell the others what he found, but the ranger should have come back first before going on.

"Two wrongs," he said to himself. "Come on let's get out of this sun," he said to Little Rat.

The young orc practically ran down the steep trail into the dark of the ravine. 

Adventure - After the Giants: The Ruins of Nosnra's Steading Part 1

After the Giants: The Ruins of Nosnra's Steading Part 1

(With revision work inspired by Robert Holdstock)


A storm lashes the Jotens. Lightning flashes and thunder cracks. Torrents of rain cut through the forested slopes and valleys like miniature spearpoints, piercing, stinging and cold.

Night has fallen early and even the predators of the dark have hidden themselves from the wrath of the storm. An almost completely overgrown path leads to the bald head of a great hilltop. 

In the gloom walls of wood rise at its center, a gigantic structure, a small forest of roughly trimmed tree-trunks.

In the flash of lightning the scars of war can be seen. The doors of the mighty steading lie asunder, the wood split and burnt. A great portion of its roof now naught but a gaping hole charred around its edges. On closer inspection the wear of unkempt years lies heavy upon the timbers of its outer walls. Vines and shrubs climb, root and dig at the dead wood. Mold and fungus spread unchecked. Gaps between one trunk and another gape open by this invasive growth, but it is between these broken boles that the life existing among the corpse of this once mighty hold gleams out. Fire, a warm light which flickers amid the gloom. Somewhere within the ruin the spark and beat of life still pulses. 

Nosnra is gone and his steading in ruins but while its walls may be broken it does not lie empty. Here is a scenario dealing with the now ruined steading.

The Dead That Dream

Nosnra and his clan fell to their foes and lie unshriven amid the fields and ruins of the steading. The great war against the giants went on for years with both human, demi-human and giantish populations decimated. The spirits of these fallen giants were never released to dwell among their ancestors and Nosnra's spirit more than any other is greatly restless.

Upon the oerth lost souls often rise again, and so it happened with the giants; their flesh, their bones, their dark spirits animated, but the spirit of the clan with Nosnra as its focus became so lost that they have warped the land around them. Nosnra and the spirit of the clan in death have begun to dream.

It is years since the giants invaded the human lands below their hills and years since they were driven back again, but hill giants have been seen again along the edge of the wilderness. Giants that raid and kill, loot and burn, but giants that blades will not cut, though wounds appear and fade across their flesh, that arrows will not pierce, that magic used against them does not touch or slow.

A force of several dozen hill giants attacked and destroyed a frontier outpost, a small fortress and the town that was being built around it. A group of rangers tracking these giants saw them make a rough camp for the night, but as the moon began to rise they watched the flesh peel from the raiders bones and rot, or some fade till they were a translucent haze or others darken to till they were wavering blackness deeper than the night. By morning they were gone; the loot they had gathered left were it had been placed and their captives half-mad with fear.

The land further up into the hills has become a place of restless dreams and nightmares. Time does not pass as it should, night falls and lasts for days or for hours or moments, daylight can find the sun overhead as if at noon and in an eyeblink set or rise or hang in the sky unmoving. Men who sleep fade before waking or are beset by nightmares that drive them to madness or leave them torn or bleeding, or dead. Giants, ogres and wolves drift across the hills. Some are gathered as if to raid. Others walk the hills alone or in groups of hunters. They may pass by men in the open and not see them or track them down only to disappear in the midst of battle. Few who have entered these cursed hills have returned. The land blinds the eyes of sages and the divine who look from afar. Wizards who have used the power of flight or creatures who can fly or ride flying beasts lose themselves quickly beyond the border of civilization, some crashing to the ground, others circling back only to find that hours or days have been lost.

What Has Happened?

The spirits of Nosnra, the clan and the individual giants slain in and around the steading have, in their restless unlife, caused a sliver of the Demi-plane of Dreams to intersect with the Prime Material. The Demi-Plane of Dreams is easily fragmented and impinges constantly with the Prime Material through dreams, but normally it has little to no effect to most dreamers themselves and especially not to the reality of the Prime Material. But the invasion of the giants and the wars that raged above and below the oerth weakened the barrier between the planes and a fractured piece of Dreamland has become stuck.

Reality is warped around the hills and the borderlands. This rift between the planes has been growing slowly over the years but only recently has it become strong enough to spring into being, and slowly it is spreading.

The great druid Cathabach is the only person to have passed into the hills, reached the steading and returned. He has crafted a dozen charms from the bones of dead giants and the wood of the steading that will allow others to enter into this fragment of dreamland without suffering the worst of its effects. Cathabach is gravely wounded in both body and soul and cannot return, but he can offer advice and is sending a lesser druid Caithach and a ranger Manandoun as guides.

End Part One

NPC - Zervan Cloud Giant Ambassador

NPC -  Zervan Cloud Giant Ambassador

Arrogant, immensely powerful, brilliant, haughty and thoroughly evil, Zervan represents the Cloud Giant Confederation when it deals with its lesser brethren (any giants who are not Cloud Giants). He was an immessary to the ill-fated Nosnra and the Drow inspired campaign against surface dwellers that had him flitting between the grubby Hill Giants like Nosnra's ilk, the frozen Frost Giants and the sweaty and overheated Fire Giants. Now he is returned to his home, a cloud  castle that floats among the Crystalmists. Some trouble with the dull, grey Stone Giants is brewing so he knows his time home will be short.

Zervan is tall even for a Cloud Giant and carries with him a enchanted blade crafter by enslaved dwarven weaponsmiths. It bears the trapped spirit of a Cloud Dragon within it, Xft by name, and constantly struggles for domination with Zervan. If Zervan can mentally dominate the spirit of Xft he gains the usae of the spells and abilities of an adult Cloud Dragon for the day. Each day he must struggle for control of the sword and if the dragon ever wins he will have Zervan destory the sword, frreeing the spirit of Xft and exchanging Cloud Giant flesh for enchanted steel. Xft will walk away in the body of Zervan and Zervan will bide his time till he can dominate a person of his liking and take their body for his own. So far Zevan has always won.

The Hill Giant Chief - Nosnra's Saga - The End

"I will not abandon him," said Telenstil. 

"The wolves are at our throats and the giants are behind them," Talberth pointed with one hand. 

The burning wall set three wolves afire. They ran like living torches, sending out streams of flame behind them. The others pulled back in time, singed fur and noses, but no fatalities. Beyond the wall, Harald fought alone. 

"Prepare yourselves!" Telenstil called out to the others. "Harald needs us, follow me." The elf ran to the edge of the fire. He could see nothing through the flames. "No-it-us Ol-la Men-Na!" he shouted. 

The wall of fire melted. A section at least ten yards wide dissolved as the power of Telenstil's spell overcame Talberth's craft. Ghibelline and Gytha were at the mage's side, Talberth was behind him. Derue flowed across the ground, quick and smooth as water in the moonlight. The old gnome wizard came after him, slow, but moving quick as he could. Only the halfling stayed behind. Harold wrapped Little Rat's savaged arm in a bandage. The young orc lay senseless. 

***

The ranger could feel the heat from the wall of fire that had burst into life behind him. Nothing could come at him from that direction, the thought flashed through his mind, but he could not stand against the giants. A boulder sailed through the air, then through the flames. Harald moved, he charged the giants. Another stone smashed down where he had been. The claymore in his right hand flashed. Stabbing high, the point sought a giant's throat, but cut across a shoulder instead. Three giants circled him. One pushed around the edge of the burning wall to get at his back, but Harald turned and jabbed the monster in the gut. The cloth of shirt and pants ignited as the giant stepped back away from the blade and into the wall of flame. 

"Got ya!" barked out another giant. 

A hand slapped hard against the side of Harald's skull. Stars exploded in his eyes and danced merrily around as he shook his head to clear his sight. Blindly he slashed with his knife but struck nothing. A huge hand reached out and caught him by his neck, thick fingers clamping hard about his throat, crushing tight. 

Harald drew the edge of the giant's dagger, that he used as a short sword, across the fingers that were wrapped about his neck. The steel edge grated against bone, the awkward angle running against Harald's chin and cheek. Blood of man and giant mixed, the hand was snatched away, and Harald fell to his knees gasping for air. Something came at him from the side. Harald did not look but swung his sword and tried to stand. Mimming opened up a giant's leg from knee to heel, but it did not stop the kick. The foot struck Harald's side, mashing armor, breaking ribs, knocking the ranger from his feet. The giant stumbled back, but others surged forward. One stamped and caught the hand that held the giant dagger. Fingers snapped, caught between metal, stone and the giant's heel. Harald stabbed the giant in its thigh then ripped the blade out so that a deep open wound gaped across the its upper leg. The foot lifted and Harald pulled his broken hand away, but left the dagger behind. His hand was bent and pierced with the sharp ends of bone stabbing out from within. 

* * * 

"There now," said Harold. "That's the best I can do." He finished wrapping the badly mauled arm. He bound it tight with two sticks to keep the bone in place. His hand went to his dagger. Harold turned with his blade at the ready. Footsteps clomped across the stones. 

"Mmmmm!" the dwarf tried to shout. A rag had been stuffed in his mouth and another strip used to tie it in place. He'd managed to spit most of it out, but not enough to speak. 

"You seem to be the giant's foe," said Harold. "I hope that means that you will be a friend to us." The halfling gestured for the dwarf to be still and walked behind him. He'd sharpened the dagger to a keen edge and it cut through the rope that bound the dwarf's hands in a single draw. Immediately the dwarf pulled away the strip of cloth and spat out the rest of the rag. He coughed and sputtered for a moment before turning around to clasp Harold by the shoulders. 

"Be friend. Yes," said the dwarf. "I be Nyradir." 

"Well Nyradir..." Harold began to say, but his words fell from him and were lost. The wall of fire gave a huff and disappeared. Harold could see into the camp beyond, his eyes widened in alarm. 

* * * 

The ranger swept his sword before him, more to keep the giants at bay than to strike any down. A long arm lashed out and a huge fist cracked hard against his skull. Blindly he swung a backhand blow and a giant grunted as the blade hit with a meaty thunk. Harald swayed, stars in his eyes and a ringing in his ear. A two-fisted blow hammered him into the ground, his face smacking solidly, his head giving a bounce, and Harald was still. Two kicks were all the giants had time to give before Telenstil stepped through the gap he'd made in the firewall. Ribs snapped and Harald was lifted up with each mule-strong blow. Words that echoed like thunder in the mountains stopped them, stopped all those in the camp. 

"Ket-Jo Sal-Ma!" came the words of power from Telenstil. His voice was loud and filled with menace. In his hand he held a strip of fine white fur, a rod of crystal pinned inside with thirteen needles made of silver. The elven mage opened his fist and without any movement of his own the pins flew from his hand. The crystal blazed with light and the strip of fur was utterly consumed, not even a speck remained. 

A bolt of lightning flew from Telenstil. It struck a giant just behind the three that kicked at the body of the ranger. White blazing, almost living, it wrapped itself for an eyeblink around a giant's head. Already burnt and badly hurt from the burst of fire sent by the two wizards, the giant screamed, and shook, and died. The lightening was past the collapsing body and jumped from giant to giant before the first one fell. Five, six, then a seventh were caught by the rebounding bolt. An eighth was struck, then back again it went, dashing among the shaking forms. 

"You never taught me that spell," said Talberth, his tone hushed with respect. 

* * *

Telenstil didn't answer, but instead drew out a black chain from which dangled a handful of amber stones. "I've never even seen that spell before." murmured Talberth to himself. 

For a moment the camp was quiet, then the wall of fire gave a huff and disappeared. It broke the silence and set the wolves to howling. 

"Stand back!" yelled Telenstil. His voice was loud and filled with command, but it lacked the eldritch quality that had rung out as he'd cast his spell of power. With a twist of his hand he snapped the largest of the amber stones from the chain and hurled it toward the giants. 

Fire blossomed, rising in a twisting pillar. Arms and legs formed, and a grinning head. The fire-creature had a wicked face. Eyes black as coal, fangs and claws glowing white hot and hair like molten steel. It gave a shriek like steam escaping from a kettle and tore into the giants around it. 

"Away, away," cried Telenstil. 

"Fire Elemental," Ivo glanced at the elf. "Dangerous." 

"It will not attack me, but the rest of you stand clear!" ordered Telenstil. 

The giants fought, but stone went through the creature and did little harm. Hands smashed at it, but the flame-flesh burned the mere oerthly hide of the giants. Clubs and daggers fared better, but they struck nothing solid, only parted the substance of the elemental's body which reformed itself as the wood or metal passed through. 

Claws of fire left blazing cuts and slashes. Just the nearness of the creature set beards, hair and clothes ablaze. The elemental twisted, danced and laughed, its voice a shrieking, evil wail. But not all the giants faced the elemental. Some were near to Telenstil and the others. Some near the far edge of the camp by the path. And the wolves set upon prey that did not burn. They had no liking for fire. The elemental was a deadly beast, but only a distraction for the giants, it would not hold them long. 

Ivo slipped a tiny bottle from a wooden case. A small tube, only a sliver of glass, was at the center of the bottle, surrounded by a dirty, yellow liquid. Inside the tube was a pinch of dark powder. Thrown hard by the old gnome, the glass shattered on the ground amid the wolves. Smoke, grey-yellow and dense, billowed from the spot. 

***

"Friend," the dwarf, Nyradir, said, but he looked toward the fight and not at Harold. 

The halfing could hear the concern in the dwarf's voice. 

"Friend, Galar!" Nyradir cried out in alarm. 

Harold looked to see what the dwarf saw. Fire rose up among the giants. The elf Ghibelline stabbed one of the monsters while Gytha smashed it across the knee with her iron staff. A stream of motion was Derue. He glided between two giants, swaying back from the club strike of one and ducking beneath a sweeping blow of another. Talberth sent a flight of blue-glowing magic bolts into a wolf that charged him, and a cloud of sickly vapors swallowed the rest of the pack. But what had so alarmed the dwarf, Harold could not see. 

* * * 

"Talberth, help me. We must grab Harald and get him out of here," shouted Telenstil. 

"We will never move him," Talberth said breathlessly. "Wolves!" he shouted in turn, his eyes flashing toward the smoke-cloud created by Ivo's spell. 

A handful of the beasts jumped from the wafting edges, their hair lank and greasy with a shiny, yellow oil. More staggered from the cloud, some dropped and rolled in the dirt, others wiped at their muzzles with paws bitten by the magic smoke. 

"You two get Harald," Ivo told the two wizards. "I'll take care of these." The old gnome held a white feather in his hand and waved it toward the wolves. He spoke words of gnomish magic beneath his breath and the feather disappeared. What the wolves saw even Ivo did not know. His spell sought out their greatest fear and made it real. There were growls and whines, one wolf leapt straight up into the air. None went back into the grey-yellow cloud, but all turned tail and ran. 

***

Nyradir raced toward the giants. He had no weapon, but that daunted him not at all. Veering toward the left, he avoided the three who fought with Ghibelline, Gytha and Derue. Behind them the elemental skreeched and whirled. The sacks and bags of the giants lay unattended. 

Galar lay bound among the litter. The dwarf was still, but his hands worked at the rope that tied them. Rough cord bit into his skin and slicked his wrists with blood. He'd just about freed one hand when Nyradir reached him. 

"Galar!" cried Nyradir with relief. "You are still alive." 

"Undo these knots!" snapped Galar. 

"You've almost got this off yourself," Nyradir said, looking at the gouges in Galar's flesh. "How are the others." He glanced at the sacks that the giants had not upended. 

"Dead," Galar said like a curse. "They put me in last.. owuch! What are you playing at!" 

"Sorry, I've no knife and these knots are pulled tight," Apologized Nyradir. "They're dead. How do you know?" he asked in a low voice after a moments pause. 

"I was trussed up and put in last," said Galar. "I saw. They cut their throats and bled them like rabbits." 

"Why not us," grunted Nyradir. 

"They've other plans for us," said Galar. "There!" he pulled his arms free and grimaced when he saw the deep cuts on his wrists. "My pack, my hammer, they are in those sacks of the giants. Your axe as well, come, help me," Galar didn't wait for Nyradir's reply. The older dwarf kicked through the debris surrounding him and threw himself upon one of the large cloth sacks. He pulled at the cord and it came open in his hand. There was another sack beside him. Nyradir grabbed at it, but Galar slapped him on the shoulder. "Not that one," Galar said and shook his head. 

"This one? Annar and Sjar?" Nyradir asked. 

Galar nodded to him silently. The muscles in Nyradir's hand tightened, his fingers went white with the strain, and the cloth bag tore down its side. When he had ripped it halfway, a curly head came into sight. Nyradir put his hand beneath and cradled the neck, as if the dwarf was merely sleeping. 

"I have said prayers for them, said them for all of us," Galar told him. "Our gear is in this bag, say your prayers for them later, say it with your axe. Carve a prayer in some giant flesh." 

The fighting raged around them. 

* * * 

"I had hoped to save these," murmured Telenstil. 

He tore two more of the fiery stones from the black chain. A pair of elementals appeared, both identical to each other and to the first that had risen from the enchanted stone. They were half the size of their larger brethren, but just as wild with a vicious, blazing madness. 

The mage had thrown the dweomered gems in haste and with an awkward cast. They landed between the giants, behind their backs, as most fought the first elemental and the rest tried to crush the humans and the elf. It was a lucky throw. One fire-beast hopped onto a giant's back. The monstrous warrior roared, and as it did, Ghibelline stabbed it with his blade, driving steel in till the hilt was pressed into the giant's belly. The elf nearly lost his grip as the giant writhed, but Ghibelline had lost one sword to Nosnra's kin already, he would not let another go. 

The second of the fiery pair tore into the giants who attacked his larger kin. Molten talons of living fire ripped across the sides of two giants. Teeth that were hotter than the coals of a forge bit down into an arm and took away a chunk of flesh. The wound did not bleed, burnt-shut by the elemental's touch. 

The club in the giants hand lashed out, but the elemental was already gone, busy screeching in glee as it clawed and bit and blazed into another giant. The blow thocked hard into his neighbor's skull and brought the towering warrior down like a sapling felled with a single stroke of an axe. 

***

Derue moved like a leaf fluttering from a tree. The smashing fists and lunging strikes of the giants came close, but it was as if the force of the attacks helped to push the scout just out of reach. The journey of the leaf is always to the ground, but it is the wind that guides its path. What guided Derue seemed like a wind, no effort could be seen in his motion, no force behind his hands and feet. Something beyond his mortal frame, always spare, but now with flesh stretched tightly across his bone, added a strength to his blows and a grace to his movements. 

As a giant to his left brought a cask-sized fist smashing down, Derue extended his leg up to meet the giant's chin. The heel of the scout's foot met the bottom of the massive jaw and slammed it shut as if the giant had brought his head down atop a pillar of rock. There was a crack of breaking teeth and breaking bone. The giant's jaw hung at an angle and blood poured from its mouth. Derue spun, bringing his raised leg down and twisting his other leg horizontal till it met the giant's huge belly and sank ankle deep. The giant sprayed out blood and bits of teeth, then gasped for air, its face turning first red then blue. With both hands on its bruised stomach, the giant fell and landed heavily on its side, then rolled back and forth in pain. Each breath was a fight against injured muscles. It coughed out the blood that poured into its lungs from its ruined mouth. Derue faced only the one giant now.

A punch strong as a battering ram caught the scout a glancing blow. He let it send him flying through the air, but he was on his feet before the giant could strike again. 

* * * 

Human hands could do little against the giant's mighty bulk. Derue could shatter the bricks in a wall, crack stone and splinter wood, but the bones of the massive warrior that he fought were as thick as tree-trunks and wrapped in flesh, tougher than any man's. His feet were another matter and he used them to good effect. The giant tried to bat the scout aside with a backhand swipe. 

Bending almost double, Derue ducked beneath the blow, but swung his arms up so that they hooked about the huge forearm as it passed. He was carried up into the air, his weight was nothing to the corded muscles of the giant's arm. As he rose, he slid, his own arms loosely circled around the giant's. Past the elbow he went, then letting go as he reached the bicep. Derue's arms went down to his sides and he spun, using his hips and his shoulders to torque his body. One leg pulled up, bending at the knee, his other extended heel first. He struck beneath the giant's upraised arm, the monster's own strength adding to the force of Derue's blow, as he spiraled his heel into the pit of the creature's arm. 

A man would have been crippled, if not killed. The giant gave a grunt of pain, its arm spasmed, its clenched fist sprang open, fingers outstretched from the jabbing shock. The injured arm moved weak and slow, but the giant swept out with its other hand only to slash the air where Derue had been. 

A few yards to the side, Ghibelline tore his sword free from a giant's belly. He staggered back, Gytha catching Ghibelline by the shoulder and keeping him from falling to the ground. Blazing talons had sunk into the giant's throat even as the elf's sword came free. The fire-beast still rode upon the huge warrior's back and reaching round sliced smoking cuts across the wide neck, setting beard and hair aflame. It was the giant's turn to stumble, but he had no one to keep him on his feet. Backwards he fell and buried the elemental beneath him. 

A little further on found Ivo dragging at Harald's sword. The small gnome was half the size of the huge blade. Beside him, Talberth and Telenstil worked at moving the body of the ranger. Each mage pulled at a shoulder. Harald was human-sized again, but a mighty man, no less so in sleep, or death. A word from Talberth had taken away the spell that had transformed the ranger to almost giant-size. His weight was more than either mage could have hoped to budge alone, and together they still strained to drag him from the midst of battle. 

The bodies of giants formed a waist high wall for the man and elf. A wall almost higher than Ivo's head as he passed the unmoving blackened, chest of a slain warrior. They had not gone far, no more than half a score of feet, when a voice groaned from the throat of a giant. Ivo looked over to see a pair of white eyes flash open amid a face charred black and lined with raw red cracks. Hairless, the fire had eaten all the skin of its head, burnt ears to stumps, nose to a lump of coal-like flesh and the giant's mouth scorched into a dark pit no longer ringed with lips. 

"Lppphhh," came a voice like a deep moan of wind. A hand shot out with a shocking speed. Telenstil had half turned. He still held Harald's upper arm when the hand caught him by his neck and shoulders. Nailess fingers closed around him like bands of steel. Flakes of skin broke from the giant's hand, but the monster had passed the point of feeling pain. The giant pulled himself to his feet. Fjolver, strong among his people, but stronger in will and heart than even his own kind would have believed. With a casual flick of his hand, he tossed Telenstil behind him as he would toss a bone at mealtime to the floor. 

* * * 

"ome! usshhh!" moaned Fjolver. The giant had his eyes locked on Ivo but he lashed out and struck down Talberth as casually as a man would slap away a beggar's hand. The mage had dropped Harald's shoulder and fumbled for his lightning-wand. He'd not been able to draw it before the back of the Fjolver's hand cracked against his chest. Knocked aside, Talberth fell as he struggled for balance. He stumbled over a giant's lifeless arm, his own wrapped about his ribs, and crashed in a flurry of motion as he tried to brace himself for the fall. Ivo stood perfectly still as the giant reached for him. The monster's hand engulfed the old gnome and lifted him from the ground. Fjolver raised Ivo to his face, the burnt fingers of the giant's hand gripping him around the middle. Fjolver smiled, his huge, yellow teeth soot-stained, but silhouetted amid the horror of his face. 

There was a broad, silver buckle on Ivo's belt. Its front embossed with a symbol of a moon over a hill. Ivo slid two small clasps aside with his hand and pulled the buckle free. A pair of silver needles were revealed, the buckle a square shaped hilt. The old gnome smiled back into the giant's face and jabbed the needles deep into Fjolver's wrist where the veins showed beneath the blackened skin. Fjolver opened his mouth to howl, but the giant froze in place, even his eyes were stopped and glazed. Opposite the symbol of moon and hill, a spider was carved into the silver of the buckle, the two needles were its fangs. The outline of the spider bulged. A head rose from the metal, bent down, pushed into the giant's wrist. One by one the legs pulled themselves free, then at last the bloated body. The metal liquefied and ran like quicksilver into the spider, then through the needle fangs into Fjolver's veins. In an eyeblink the metal was gone and then the silver spider followed, turning into a stream of metal venom, rushing through its own fangs till nothing was left but two dripping holes in the giant's wrist. 

"Death take you!" hissed Ivo. The gnome looked old and grim. He drew a small dagger from his belt, one sided and razor sharp. Ivo climbed up the giant's arm and cut Fjolver's throat, then threw his knife away. 

***

The giant's broke. They'd swept the first elemental apart with their blows, but the mad fire-beast had hurt them all. When a second appeared with a third behind it, the giant's said enough and peeled away. 

A young warrior, his hair burnt down to a greasy smudge, was the first to run. Then an older giant with his fist and arm blistered all along its length. The last six, all warriors of Fjolver's band, turned and ran for the path, the elemental in hot pursuit. One living giant stood within the camp. His left arm was half-numbed, but he fought on with his right. Derue circled him, weaving closer in a spiraling dance that kept the giant pivoting, trying to keep its injured arm away from the human who struck with the power of a hammer behind his feet and hands. 

* * * 

"Cllaaannn-Gggeeddd-IN!" screamed Nyradir. The dwarf had found his axe, jumbled carelessly with the equipment of his slain companions, and now raced across the camp to attack the giants. 

But they had fled, the last of them already on the trail and heading up, to escape the fire-beast that chased them. His head whipped round as he scanned the camp. Behind him one giant stood, the monstrous warrior facing an unarmed man. Galar gave a whistle, drawing Nyradir's attention, and pointed to the giant. The dwarf gave a shake of his head, 

"Cursed priests," he muttered, then turned back to the man and the giant. 

He expected to see the man dead, crushed beneath the giant's heel, or smashed by a huge fist. Instead, the giant backed away as the man came forward. The giant lunged, but half-heartedly, a weak, brush with his hand that the man easily avoided. There was a solid thump. Nyradir couldn't see what had happened, but the giant limped back, favoring one leg, and the man swirled aside and to the giant's left. 

"Clangedin!" Nyradir shouted, then ran with his axe brought to one shoulder. 

The giant kept shifting, trying to keep the man in his sight, and the man kept moving to the left. They had turned so that now the giant's back was toward Nyradir. 

The dwarf smiled. The best way to attack a giant was from behind, or with a boulder dropped from a very high cliff. A dwarf had to strike at what he could and whittle an opponent down to size. 

Nyradir brought his axe up from his shoulder and slashed open the back of the giant's knee. There was a gout of blood, shooting out as the giant stiffened, the monstrous body going straight as a board and tipping forward. Then the injured leg gave way and the huge warrior dropped to one side with a rumble like an avalanche. Nyradir chopped at the giant's neck as the man seemed to flow toward him and crush the barrel-sized throat with the heel of his foot. 

"Well-met!" laughed Nyradir. 

The man said nothing, but gave the dwarf a nod. 

Nyradir's smile faded from his lips as he nodded back. "A grim one," he thought to himself. 

There was a clap like thunder and a blinding flash of light. Something screeched, its voice fading off as if it fell into a deep, deep pit. 

* * * 

"That thing still lives," said Ghibelline. The elf pointed with his sword as he spoke to Gytha. From beneath the body of the giant it had killed, the fire-beast clawed itself free. It tossed the carcase of the huge warrior aside, the back of the giant had been burnt to the bone and almost hollowed out by the elemental it had lain upon. 

"I don't think that it is on our side," Ghibelline said over his shoulder. He lunged and put the point of his blade through the creatures throat. He might as well have tried to stab a bonfire. The creature hissed, a bright red tongue, the color of a sword-blade fresh pulled from the forge, licked out. 

It hurt the eyes just to look at the creature. The elemental rose, and Ghibelline's sword passed down through its body. Stepping forward it engulfed the blade up to the hilt and would have kept coming up the arm, till it could sink its white-hot, molten teeth into the elf's throat. Ghibelline pulled back, giant's blood sizzling on the edge of his sword, cooked by the body of the elemental. He ducked a slash from the fire-beast's claws, but they left three deep burns across his forearm. 

"Back to the flames beast!" commanded Gytha. The Cuthbertine priestess strode forward with her iron staff held in both hands. "By the strength of the holy Saint, send this fire-beast, this nameless elemental of fire, send it back to the place of its creation. It is not of this Oerth. O Saint, cast it out!" she screamed and brought her staff down on the creature's head. 

* * * 

There was a ringing in his ears. Nyradir opened his eyes and blinked them, but the purplish blotch was slow to fade. The dwarf lay on his back, looking up into the clear sky. A heavily bearded face bent over him and a hand slapped him lightly on his cheek. 

"...stunned," said Galar. 

"what?" Nyradir asked, but his voice sounded like a whisper. "WHAT!?!" he yelled. 

A pained expression shot across Galar's face and he put his hand to his ear. 

Nyradir opened his mouth to speak but Galar quickly placed his hand across the warrior's mouth before he could shout again. 

"Quietly," said Galar. "Quietly. I can hear fine, its you who are a bit wonky." 

"mmpgrhmm," said Nyradir. 

Galar took his hand away. 

"What happened?" the dwarven warrior asked. 

"Deific abjuration," Galar told him. The dwarven priest raised his eyes when he saw the blank look on Nyradir's face. "Human priestess make fire-elemental go away," he pointed behind him. 

Nyradir looked about, propping himself up, but the body of a giant blocked his view. He reached out an arm and Galar helped pull him to his feet. The after-image from the flash of light had faded from his eyes. No more purple blotch. Nyradir scanned the camp, no giants moving about, only a cluster of humans a few dozen feet away. 

"You must have hit your head," said Galar. "Strong rocks they have around here," he mused, "I'd'ave thought your head would be the one to put a dent in things, not the other way round." 

"Very funny," Nyradir rubbed the back of his head and found a lump the size of a chicken's egg. He pulled his hand away as if he'd touched a burning coal and winced at the pain, his breath whistling through his teeth. 

"Take a helm next time," Galar advised. 

"Well I wouldn't wear one now," Nyradir answered him. "Not with this lump. Can't you do something?" 

"Berronar's aid is for heroes," scolded Galar. "You've got a knock on the noggin. Teach you some sense, like wearing a helmet." 

"You don't wear one!" snorted Nyradir. 

"I'm a priest," said Galar, "besides, they make my hair sweaty." 

"So what is going on?" asked the warrior. 

"Picking up the injured. Collecting the dead," Galar shrugged. "I wasn't invited and we haven't been introduced. You're the one that speaks these lowland tongues, not me." 

"You could have asked Berronar's aid for that," Nyradir reminded him. 

"You are Truesilver's servant now?" asked Galar. "I don't go wasting Berronar's time when there are other means at hand."

 "You mean me," said Nyradir. 

"I mean you," Galar nodded in agreement. 

"Any dwarves among them?" asked Nyradir. 

"Not that I could see," said Galar. "There is an old gnome, an elf or two, a couple of humans." 

"I saw a halfling," offered Nyradir. 

"Good for you," Galar replied. "Now, times wasting, go find out who they are and see if they know anything." 

"Maybe they can help." Nyradir said. 

"They certainly saved our bacon," said Galar. "Our spirits as well, if I don't miss my guess." 

* * * 

"Is he dead?" Harold asked, fearing the answer would be yes. The halfling had made his way to the others, weaving around the bodies of the slain. Little Rat, he supported with great effort, the young orc's good arm over his shoulder. 

"No," Ivo answered him. "Almost, but no. Talberth and Telenstil made it to him in time." 

"Help me here, would you?" Harold asked 

The two small companions stood just beyond the circle of their friends. Gytha knelt beside the body of Harald. The ranger did not move, did not even seem to breath. Nearby were Talberth and Telenstil. Ghibelline hovered over Gytha's shoulder and Derue had his back to the halfling and the gnome. With care, Ivo and Harold lowered Little Rat to the ground. They propped him up against the arm of a dead giant, but the young orc was in a daze, he might as well of had his head on the stones or in a fire. 

"That arm looks bad," said Ivo. 

The bandage that Harold had wrapped around the mangled forearm was soaked through and it was tight against the swelling flesh. 

"I'll have to loosen it," Harold grimaced, "it's starting to swell, and it is still bleeding. Gytha!" the halfling yelled as he unwrapped the blood-slicked cloth. "Gytha!" he yelled again. 

"I am here," the priestess said as she approached. 

"How is Harald?" Ivo asked her. "Does he live?" 

Harold did not turn his head, but his eyes shifted to the side. 

"He lives. He sleeps, but he is grievously hurt still," said Gytha. "Do you need my aid?" 

"Little Rat," Harold turned now and his face was streaked with tears, "this wound may kill him, take his arm at least, can you help him. Will you?" 

Her touch was light but firm on the halfling's shoulder. 

"You should know me by now. No need to ask. I will do what I can." 

"Hrrmpphh!" came a deep growl. Nyradir had come up to them, the priest Galar standing just behind. Ghibelline had his eyes locked on the dwarven priest. 

"You be Ginnar's kin?" he asked in a dwarven tongue. 

"My brother! What do you know of him?" Galar spoke with a rising voice and great emotion. 

"Slow, please," Ghibelline held up both his hand palm forward. "Little your tongue I know." 

"Nyradir! Ask him. Ask him," said Galar excitedly. 

"You speak trade-talk?" asked Nyradir. 

"Ask him, curse you," interrupted Galar. 

"I will, I will," Nyradir snapped back in dwarvish. "You know Ginnar, Galar's brother?" he nodded toward the priest. "I be Nyradir." 

"I am Ghibelline," said the elf. "Ginnar was my friend, but I could not rescue him when I myself was rescued from the dungeon's of Nosnra." 

Nyradir translated the words to Galar as quickly as he could and the priest responded with a long stream of questions. "He ask much," said Nyradir in common. "But this place look bad. Giant's run, run home, but they be back. Bring more kin." 

"I agree," said Telenstil. The elven mage was bloodied and battered. One arm and shoulder he held stiff, and he winced with pain with every step he took. "We should be away, but where would we find shelter from the giants?" 

"How would we get there?" asked Ivo. "You need healing if you are going on a trek," he said to Telenstil, "and Harald, and Little Rat, and Talberth, you look none to well." 

"I'm fine," weezed the mage. He had both arms wrapped tightly round his chest. 

"Galar help," offered Nyradir. "Berronar, healer, Galar serve Berronar." The warrior turned to the priest and spoke to him in their dialect of mountain dwarf. "These are friends Galar. Friends of your brother too. You can call on Berronar to help them can't you." 

"You're quick. Enemies of giants doesn't mean friends to dwarves," said Galar. "But let Berronar judge the truth as he will. I'm not healing that orc, you can tell them that," the priest said firmly. 

* * * 

Day was coming to an end, and the ranger still slept. Harald had been carried away from the carnage and now the group, grown larger by two dwarves, had gathered themselves by the edge of camp that was furthest from the path. The bags of the giants had been plundered. Any loot that caught the eye was snatched up, but Nyradir and Galar took away only their own possessions, taken from them by the giants, and that of their slain companions. The bodies of Nyradir's warriors were carried away with reverence and solemnity by the two dwarves. It was a cheerless and grim circle, all were hurt or weary, save the halfling, and he had put himself on watch, a little distant from the others. 

"We go, Nosnra's Hall," said Nyradir in broken common. "What news?" 

"Can't you speak their tongue Ghibelline?" asked Talberth. 

"Nyradir, he speaks better common than I speak dwarven." Ghibelline confessed. 

"That is no dwarven tongue I have heard before," said Ivo. "I thought I knew them all well enough. And yet it is a little like all the languages of the dwarves I have learned or heard." 

"We have been to Nosnra's hall," said Telenstil. "Ghibelline and one other we took from the dungeons, but we left behind two of our own. We saw no dwarves." 

"They kept Ginnar chained to the forge, unless they had him out to work widening the tunnels and the chambers below the hall," added Ghibelline. 

"You friend Ginnar?" asked Nyradir. 

"Yes," said Ghibelline firmly. "I would call him friend, but he was a greater friend to another, and Jalal was like kin to me." 

"Jalal?" Nyradir turned and spoke to Galar in their own tongue. The dwarven priest raised his hands and shrugged. 

"A man," said Ghibelline, "not of war, but a braver spirit I have never known. Most of what I know of Ginnar comes from him, and he is why I live now." the elf lowered his eyes to the ground and Gytha put her arm about his shoulders. 

The two clerics could barely sit without swaying. They had expended all their strength and the healing bounty of their gods on the injured. Gytha even more so than the dwarf. She smiled, a wan, tired smile. Her face was lined with care, and her flesh was shrinking, pulling tight across her muscles and her bones. The cadaverous look of Ghibelline nearly matched her. The two, as they sat leaning against each other, looked like male and female of some species that was neither man or elf. 

Galar's eyes were red, but wide awake. Any news of his brother stirred up the fires within his spirit. He would not sleep or rest till he had heard all that there was to tell. Ghibelline spoke quickly of his capture, but little of his time within the dungeons, only telling what little he could of Ginnar. When he finished, the light of day was failing and twilight would soon be upon them. 

"Time for talk be done," said Nyradir, looking at the sky. "We go Nosnra's hall. Any here go too?" 

"I go," croaked out a voice. Harald had been set near to Gytha, his body was bruised and hurt. Fresh scars and even open cuts, that were beyond Gytha's present strength to heal, could be seen on his face and arms. Beneath his clothes the wounds were just as bad. 

"You can't even walk!" snapped the little thief. 

"Then I'll crawl," growled Harald. "But I won't run anymore." 

"I will go as well," said Ghibelline. He released Gytha's hand, but she caught it again. 

"I would go with Ghibelline, but I will abide by Telenstil's decision," she said. "I will not break my oath." 

Telenstil sat for a moment. Everyone watched him silently. "All oaths are ended here," said Telenstil. His words at first came with a great pain and weariness, but as he spoke them, a weight dropped from his spirit and he smiled. "We have wrecked great havoc among the giants. My queen has been given the answers to many questions, and through her, those you have made your pledges to as well. We have done what we could. I would do more, and if I could have it so, I would have all of us strong and rested. I would have the giants scattered or asleep, or in their cups. But I see no rest for us now, and what strength we have is perhaps more than we will have a day from now." 

"This is madness," said Talberth. 

"No," Telenstil raised his hand, palm forward, to the mage. "This is best. Nosnra has seen us run, will receive word of our flight, of this..." he gestured to the camp filled with the bodies of giant dead. "He might suspect that we will return, but I doubt that he will know for certain. This is best, but each is free to make their own decision. Nyradir, I will go with you," Telenstil said, and his hand dropped to his side. 

"Then I go with Ghibelline." said Gytha. 

"What of Little Rat?" Harold objected. "I can't leave him here. I agree with Talberth, this is madness, but I'll go. But I'm not leaving him," he gestured to the young orc, "like we left those others back in that cursed cave." 

"I will carry him if I have to," offered Ghibelline. 

Gytha smiled. "Listen. He snores now, his arm is healed, though it may be a little weak. His feet should be fine." 

Harold narrowed his eyes as he stared at the young orc. "Why that little..." said the halfling. He reached over to give Little Rat a shake. 

"No don't wake him," said Gytha. "Let him sleep while he can." 

"That leaves me," said Ivo. "No need to ask, I'll go." 

Talberth gave a deep sigh. He cast a quick glance at Gytha but quickly looked away. "I should have stayed in that 'cursed cave'. I have given my word," he pulled his shoulders straight and gave a small wince, though the pain in his chest was only a memory. "I will go." 

"Good," said Nyradir. "Good." he looked again toward the sky. "Rest little now, then go." 

"Rest," said Talberth. "Maybe it will clear some heads," but he knew in his heart that they were bound once more for Nosnra's hall. 

* * * 

(The End For Now...To Be Continued in, The Frost Giant Jarl - Grugnur's Tale)