Against the Giants by Ru Emerson - (ebook by Flandrel, Undead) Page A

he could speak, Khlened looked startled and possibly even
embarrassed at being called on his rudeness. He finally mumbled, “All that,
praps. Don’t know any elves—”
    “Maera and I aren’t elves,” Rowan said mildly enough. “Our
father is human, a warrior like yourself, northerner.”
    “Oh.” The barbarian glanced at them. “Don’t know any
half-elves or any rangers either. Just that… they’re odd, live in the woods,
talk to the bears.”
    “Bears make more sense than people sometimes,” Maera said,
and for once she sounded almost friendly. “To us, you’re the odd one. Who’d want
to live in snow and ice country?”
    “Because the north is Fist country,” Khlened replied
promptly. “Fist barbarians are born and reared there. Besides, better than to
melt in the south.”
    “We don’t like heat much ourselves,” Rowan said. Silence
followed again, but it wasn’t quite as stiff a silence as it had been. Khlened
settled back and rummaged through his pack for a stick of jerky as Vlandar
apportioned the watches.
    It clouded over and rained during the late hours, but only
briefly. Vlandar took the last watch. At sunrise, he had them on their way once
again, both boats moving slowly but steadily upstream while Rowan and Maera
scouted along the south shore and the Flennish guards took the north.
    Lhors felt useless. He could pole, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep up
with Vlandar or Khlened. Vlandar put him to working the tiller because he could
follow orders, but he couldn’t begin to understand how to read the river.
    Vlandar seemed to have picked up river travel quickly. When
the wind drove east to west for part of the afternoon and they were able to use
the sails, the warrior brought Lhors up to the bow and began pointing out how to
recognize shallow water, hidden rocks, swift currents, swirling currents, and
other dangers. Shortly after, the winds died and Lhors went back to the
tiller—still unable to work out their way by himself but easier with his role in
steering the boat.
    “There are hill giants prowling about,” Rowan reported at
sunset when they picked her up along the southern shore, “but there is nowhere
for them to cross. We’ll be safe enough along the northern shore.”
    “That’s good to know,” Vlandar replied, “but we’ll still set
a double guard tonight and light no fires. No use in tempting fate.”
     
    * * *
     
    Two more long days of hard work brought them to the Sterich
capital of Istivin. Lhors thought it a distinct step down from Cryllor. The
market was smaller, and there were few goods for sale except food and weaponry.
The periphery walls were utilitarian, and everything close to them stank of the
cauldrons of pitch kept over low-burning fires in case of sudden attack from
bandits, pirates, giants from the Steading, or other enemies. Apparently Istivin
had many of them.
    Vlandar kept them in the city only long enough to check with
the captain of the city guard for any information about the Steading and other
perils in the vicinity. While he was gone, Lhors helped Pferic and Mal replenish
the company’s supply of bread, jerked meat, and other things that could be eaten
without the need for fires.
    Past Istivin, the Davish took an abrupt turn to the south and
became narrower and more shallow. The current was slower, but sandbars and
submerged rocks were more prevalent, so they could proceed no faster.
    Two days beyond Istivin, they beached the boats on the
innermost edge of a bend in the river and began distributing goods, extra maps,
water bottles and various supplies in case anyone was separated from the group.
The Flennish men turned the boats, then beached them again and brought out
dun-colored nets to drape over nearby trees for cover. In the same way, they
blocked the main opening of a cavern that could hold all the horses. Pferic and
Zyb had the beasts inside and tethered to a line near a tiny stream that wound
through the