Terchin and his retinue had ridden east for several days. So far they had discovered nothing, aside from the occasional tantalizing report that someone who might be Oreus was seen riding through the area. They were in the heart of the Eastern Realm now, in a settled countryside of lush bocage. It was a pleasant land with well-defined fields and pastures, a quilt-like arrangement of cultivation interspersed with preserved forests where timber harvesting was carefully managed. The specter of War was now a fading memory for the inhabitants and everywhere there was the bustle of agriculture and commerce. Each tended to his own affairs, and the passage of a group of armed men only caused a moment of curiosity before chores and tasks were resumed. The prospect of raiders or bandits was unthinkable to the local populace, and so they traveled unmolested.

  The sun was close to setting when they reached the market town of Wyddenfont, held snugly by a circular wall with a tower situated at each point of the compass. A few spires protruded above the top of the defensive structure, and banners could be seen fluttering from the nearest gate. The heraldry on the banners indicated that the denizens owed their allegiance to Baron Harald of Dhozney.

  Terchin felt it was time to do some targeted reconnaissance. Even if this settlement was not the destination for Oreus, it might at least offer the means to refine the search. It was better than blindly rushing on, at any rate.

  They were held up at the gate, which was unaccountably festooned with the black of mourning. The pause irritated Terchin, who was used to freely strolling into most villages and towns. But then, the unexpected arrival of a score of soldiers from an outside polity naturally would give otherwise nonchalant guards pause. Finally, an alderman was scrounged up to meet them. After some back and forth with the apprehensive official where Terchin established his identity, he and his entourage were granted entry, provided they checked their weapons with the watch while they were inside the walls – and paid a rather hefty entry fee. At least he was gratified to learn that the news of Eskemar’s changes had traveled here, and he was recognized as an eminent personage to be treated with courtesy. Over the course of Terchin’s life he had gone from thief, to merchant to triumvir. Not bad for a man of humble origins, he thought with brief satisfaction, before anxiety again asserted itself.

  Once within Wyddenfont, Terchin beckoned over his sergeant of the guard, who was the ranking officer. The sergeant was a typically gruff man who often snarled his orders but was fair-minded and had a reputation for looking after the welfare of the men under him. Terchin knew that in his off hours, he was a jovial fellow when at his ease. “Tostig, have the men quartered at the nearest hostel you can find that has the space to accommodate them. Put some of the men in an adjoining stable if you must, but don’t split up the group by sending them to multiple establishments. Then join me in yonder inn at the bar.” He nodded to indicate a nearby half-timbered building with a sign that proclaimed it to be “The Raven’s Roost.”

  “Thirsty, milord?” asked Tostig with a wink.

  “Always, but that’s beside the point. I want to pump the innkeeper for information before our arrival becomes widely known. People might clam up after that.”

  Terchin knew that when important people started posing questions reluctance set in – people didn’t want to get ensnared in some mess that was bigger than themselves. They had enough problems of their own. Sure there was always the professional snitch, but he preferred to rely on someone less venal when seeking general information.

  “In the meantime, I need to have a consultation with a priest,” Terchin said, and using the skyline as a guide, headed toward the spires that indicated a small cluster of temples several streets away.

  It did not take him long to find what he sought. These were rather more humble houses of worship than the ones in Eskemar, but Wyddenfont still boasted five temples, all set about one of the two main squares of the town. Terchin strolled by the first couple of temples, then stopped in front of the third, a narrow, hunched edifice built of limestone with a row of clerestory windows around the perimeter and a front porch supported by a row of plain cylindrical columns. It was the Temple of Nexus-gnosis, the god of the lost and revealer of knowledge and secrets. His fellow triumvir Merril had advised him to visit this temple when he arrived, as the priests of Nexus-gnosis were renowned for their divination abilities, and could often tell with remarkable accuracy where something – or someone - lost could be found again.

  Terchin climbed the stairs to the large front door, where he was listlessly greeted by an acolyte sitting on a stool. A brass offering bowl was placed on one side of him, a flaming brazier set on a wrought iron tripod on the other.

  “I have come to seek an audience with the priest,” Terchin declared.

  “The priest is finished receiving supplicants for the day,” said the acolyte, who eyed him with apathy. He was chewing on a gobbet of meat he had just roasted on a spit over the brazier. Terchin wondered if the act was transgressive, if not strictly blasphemous.

  He reached into his doublet breast pocket and drew out a folded letter with a wax seal.

  “This is a letter of introduction from High Priest Merril of Arkus in Eskemar. It would be best to deliver this to your master at once,” Terchin said, brandishing the document.

  The acolyte frowned at this unexpected development, but he took the proffered letter and dutifully went inside the temple, shutting the door behind him.

  The wait tried Terchin’s patience, but at length the door opened again and the acolyte emerged, accompanied by a rotund elderly man with a long beard who was leaning on a staff. He looked like he had just been roused from deep meditation – or slumber.

  “Good day to you...” Terchin began, in a friendly manner.

  “Linnaeus. Yes, welcome, you are welcome indeed, my Lord Terchin! Please enter,” and the solicitous man beckoned Terchin inside, his hand still clutching the opened letter.

  Terchin stifled a smile; he could only imagine what the contents of the letter his friend had written for him were, but he assumed they must have been persuasive. Besides, it was an honor to be directly contacted by a high priest from such a storied city as Eskemar. And though Merril was much too decent and benevolent to use his influence in such a crass way, there nonetheless had to be the implication that failure to assist would be viewed with decided disfavor.

  Terchin was ushered through the main chamber of the temple into a small back room, a place that looked more like a pantry than a parlor, with shelves containing all manner of random articles, ranging from comestibles to charts, ledgers to linens. A ladder in the corner led to a small loft where the acolyte probably slept.

  “This will offer a more private setting for your needs. Not uncommonly, people come with matters where discretion is valued. Please have a seat,” Linnaeus gestured to a stool while he took out a folding chair and placed it on the other side of a compact table. “Now, what may I do for you, esteemed sir?”

  Terchin thought he could get used to this – he was finally seeing perks from his raised status.

  He briefly explained his situation, and how he was looking for Oreus.

  “I know he was riding this way, and in all probability came through here,” he concluded. “What I need to know is if he did, and if so, did he continue in the same direction when he left, or did he take one of the other roads out of town?”

  “Hm, a straightforward enough request,” Linnaeus said, stroking his beard. “It would help me greatly if I had an item belonging to your son. An article of clothing perhaps, or a piece of jewelry?”

  Feeling like he was giving a bloodhound something to sniff to find a trail, Terchin brought out the tunic Oreus had been wearing when he returned from Eskemar. The garment had doubtless seen some things, and taken abuse accordingly. It needed mending and was shamefully soiled, but Terchin thought that if anything, its well-worn condition might enhance its utility.

  Linnaeus took it into his hands gently and set it upon the table. He stared at it for a while, as if he was attempting to envision the wearer clad in it. “I am ready to begin,” he said finally. “Please remain silent until I am finished.”

  Terchin nodded, and the priest took out a small hunk of an aromatic resin, which he lit and then gently blew upon until the flame went out, so that it smoked and filled the air of the room with a cloying scent. After that, he produced a set of chimes and placed it on the table next to the tunic. Then he lifted his eyes to the ceiling and raised his hands, palms up, in the pose that so often signaled attempted communion with chosen deities.

  “Oh exalted Nexus-gnosis, knower of all, you with the unblinking eye that pierces the darkness that conceals, with understanding that unravels the mysteries of the heart of man, possessing the lore that explains the workings of the world, phenomena both great and small, be they quick as lightning or slow as the drift of continents, your faithful servant implores you for aid – bestow upon me your precious gift once more, in service to the needy who look to you in their time of confusion and ignorance. Bless us as we embark on this seeking.”

  He closed his eyes, slowly waved his hands over the tunic and muttered to himself in a tongue that Terchin had never heard before, let alone understood. Not for the first time he keenly felt the lacunae in his knowledge. He liked to believe that he was self-reliant, but so often lately he had to resort to engaging the services of practitioners of the occult and arcane. Still, at least he had access to the types of expertise he needed most.

  A metallic peal sounded from somewhere above, startling Terchin, for Linnaeus had not moved. Then without being struck, the chimes began to vibrate, one by one, until they sounded in a melodious chorus. The resulting chord lingered in the air, a sound of yearning and melancholy.

  Linnaeus grunted and opened his eyes when the sound had faded and stillness was restored to the room. “To the east. Well, east-southeast. But more to your question: yes, your son continued on the same road that led him into town. Seemed to be in a hurry. Passed through...three days ago.”

  “To what destination?” asked Terchin eagerly.

  Linnaeus shook his head. “Such things I cannot say. I can see much of things that have happened, and some of what happens now, but of the future I can only speculate even in the best of times. But you can take comfort that you are on the right track. I shall pray that Oreus is safely returned to you,” the priest said with solemnity.

  “Praise be to Nexus-gnosis,” Terchin declared, and he bowed his head in what he hoped was a fitting display of reverence. “You have the gratitude of Eskemar this day. A consideration for your assistance,” Terchin said as he placed a small sack of gold coins on the table.

  “An offering for Nexus-gnosis,” the priest corrected him. “Ah – please give my regards to High Priest Merril, whose sagacity and purity of devotion are well attested by all.”

  “I certainly shall,” said Terchin as he took his leave. Merril must be even better regarded than he thought. But he had to admit, he did not move within clerical circles and was not privy to their affairs. Their ways were their own, and he was not drawn to that insular world. In any case, he was reassured that he was still on his son’s trail, and as he returned to the Raven’s Roost he was in better spirits than he had been since the disappearance of Oreus.

  “Good tidings, milord?” inquired Tostig as Terchin sauntered into the common room of the establishment. Terchin noted with approval that the man was alert and had noticed him immediately, despite the almost festive atmosphere and the mug of ale in the sergeant’s fist.

  “I know what direction to go – we continue on the same road on the way out of town. Now let’s find out what’s in that direction.”

  “I have a good notion,” Tostig volunteered. “I made some inquiries about where the roads go while I awaited your return. That way’s the lands of Duke Tolthurdine of Stedemark. You keep following that road and eventually, you get to his capital of Rosscaster. Mind you, be ready to pay at the border – he’s a stickler for tolls, that one.”

  “Tolthurdine, eh?” Terchin rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. “I’ve heard of him. Typical blue-blood type. Not a pompous fool, mind you. Bit of a stern reputation. You treat that sort with courtesy and show him the respect he feels entitled to, and usually things go all right.”

  “And if ye don’t,” Tostig said, “lowborn folk get the lash or the branding iron, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t worry,” Terchin said, “the duchy is a big place – I doubt we’ll run into him.”

  As the conversation continued, they failed to notice a seedy-looking man in a dark gray cloak who eavesdropped on them and then slipped away into the deepening shadows of twilight.

  *      *      *

  They had ridden three more days and were now well within the Duchy of Stedemark. Over the last two, they had endured almost constant rain. The roads had turned into quagmires that sucked at the hooves of the horses and pack animals, and the glum men bent down their heads and kept their eyes on the ground before them.

  Terchin briefly wondered how disgruntled the men might be – they could have stopped at a village a few hours ago and had a hot meal and slept in a stable where at least they would be dry, but he wanted to press on until sunset. As sunset was now fast approaching, they needed to camp soon, and they would be doing it on the road. Nonetheless, it was an easy decision for him to make.

  They were in an area where the road skirted the edge of a large forest that blanketed the hills and ridges that rose up in the north. To the south stretched more open grazing lands, verdant grasses punctuated here and there by clumps of briars and bracken, though they were devoid of herds this close to the end of the day.

  “We can find a spot in those trees to make camp,” Terchin said to Tostig.

  “Aye. But it wouldn’t do to go in very far, milord,” advised Tostig.

  “Agreed,” said Terchin. “This is unfamiliar territory to me – I have no idea what might be roaming in there.”

  “I was more thinking of the trespassing issue – that’s a hunting preserve for the duke and no mistake. He’s known to look most unkindly upon poachers and people wandering in his woods.”

  “Ah. And where did you pick up this morsel of information, sergeant?”

  “Back when we were in the Raven’s Roost, milord. Had two different fellas warn me of gettin’ ideas of hunting in yonder forest, though I guess gathering firewood is all right.”

  Terchin was of two minds about this disclosure. On the one hand, the initiative shown by the man was commendable, but on the other, he had no way of knowing how discrete Tostig had been when he made his inquiry. Who might have been listening? For that matter, it would not be unheard of for the same men who told Tostig of the preserve to be given coin later by another man asking what they had told Tostig. But who could possibly be a threat to them at this point? Terchin decided not to say anything about his concerns – he did not want to discourage the man.

  Terchin downplayed the risk. “Not that we will engage in any hunting, but even if we were confronted, I doubt a few game wardens would dare to raise a hand against a well-armed party like ours.”

  “True enough, milord. But to incur the wrath of a duke while traveling the long way through his lands seems a dicey prospect, well-armed or no.”

  As if to underscore his point, as they crested a low hill a pair of gibbets came into view. The warped frames of weathered and stained timber stood as forbidding and lonely sentinels warning of the duke’s harsh brand of justice. From one of them was suspended a corpse locked in a crude cage of black iron, well along in the process of decomposition. Even crows and vultures were apparently uninterested in the decayed flesh. Tostig looked at Terchin as if to say, “See? I told you!”, but he was far too proper a soldier to voice his opinion. As the sun sank below the horizon behind them, the already dark sky deepened and the scene slowly transformed from one that was merely somber to one of more sinister aspect.

  “We need to make camp, but I think we can go a little farther, just so we put enough distance between us and the gallows that they are no longer visible,” Terchin instructed. Terchin realized that although everyone in the party was long inured to death, no man wanted to sleep near such a grisly scene. It was well known that the dead invade the dreams of men who slumber nearby. Tostig nodded and brusquely informed the men, his gravelly shout muted by the steady rainfall.

  Leaving the gibbets behind they made camp within sight of the road but behind several ranks of trees. While some of the soldiers saw to the mounts, others were able to unpack and quickly improvise several lean-tos using the tree trunks as supports, though they still pitched Terchin’s tent. He did not avail himself of the large, elaborate sort of pavilion that a high lord might be expected to use on an extended trip. A humble, modestly-sized one was more than sufficient – and quicker to set up and take down. But it was nice to be able to be a little apart from the men. Due to his station, there would be psychological distance in any case, he might as well take advantage of the positive aspects of it.

  A pair of lanterns were lit – one for the sentry, and another that was hung in the middle of the camp from the bough of an old hickory. Getting a fire going was more difficult. After more than an hour of persistent effort and coaxing, a pair of the men succeeded. The small blaze was not enough to cook by, but at least they could take turns drying themselves by the flames.

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  The weather and the length of time away from the city had dragged down the spirits of the men, which had been so high at the journey’s outset. Some of them had never been away from Eskemar so long, and the rest were accustomed to relatively comfortable quarters and much less exposure to the elements. Terchin himself had not had the “camping on the side of the road” experience in a long time. He half-wondered if perhaps he was getting a little soft – not just since he became a triumvir but over the last several years as a prosperous merchant living in a fine home. But none of this mattered. Only the welfare of Oreus could be a concern. Everything else was insignificant.

  Still, it was undeniable that the mood in the camp was morose. The jests, few as they were, had taken on a sardonic, self-pitying tone, as the grumbling universal to men in the field began to manifest. But one fellow, of a more cheerful disposition than the others, sang a few songs and even played his pan flute for a bit. As he did so, the rainfall became softer and then stopped altogether, though the relentless dripping from the sopping wet tree limbs continued unabated. The men quietly gnawed on a supper of dried beef and biscuits, passing around wineskins in companionable silence, watching the sky through gaps in the forest canopy above as the clouds drifted away to reveal a moon of luminous argent.

  Terchin had consented to permit one of the men, a solicitous fellow with an eye for detail named Jandhin, to serve as his acting valet. “Help me get this off, will you?” he asked, as he began to divest himself of his leather armor. The vambraces came off easily enough, but the main portion around his torso had straps and buckles and laces that made assistance welcome.

  Terchin could have equipped himself with armor of the finest steel, of course, but he was not accustomed to wearing it. Though he was proficient with a sword, he was no warrior. Besides, old habits died hard. So he resolutely stuck with armor made with boiled leather, anticipating that he might need to avail himself of stealth at some point during the expedition. But this ensemble, though of high quality and surprisingly comfortable, was made in a way that took for granted an attendant would be helping the wearer, an assumption that Terchin had not really considered when purchasing it.

  “Will there be anything else, your lordship?” Jandhin asked as he neatly piled up the armor on top of a folded blanket covering the ground. “Another drink before you turn in?” Jandhin asked.

  “No thanks, that will be all,” said Terchin. As soon as the man left the tent he wearily laid down and pulled a blanket over himself. His body ached from all the riding. The journey was beginning to take a toll on him. But as he fell asleep he consoled himself that he was getting closer to his goal; a day of hard riding meant he would see his son a day earlier than before.

  *     *      *

  Terchin awoke to screams of terror and agony. He jerked upright, disoriented but instantly alert. Confused shouts surrounded him on all sides. There were several thuds and he could feel the ground beneath him vibrating ever so slightly. There were sounds of snarling and snapping, and the crunching of branches. He seized his sword and pulled it from its scabbard, and only paused to hastily pull on his boots before opening the flap of the tent.

  He was confronted by a scene of utter chaos. Inexplicably, there was a boulder the size of a hog a few paces away – where none had been before, and he wasn’t certain, but in the flickering of the firelight its surface looked spattered with blood. To his right one of the men lay on his back struggling while a huge wolf stood over him, its jaws fastened around his neck.

  Terchin did not hesitate; he bounded over to the beast, who didn’t even have a chance to notice his appearance before his sword swung down and severed its spine, the razor-sharp blade penetrating deep into its midsection. It keeled over with a brief yelp, kicked its rear legs a few times and lay still. Terchin looked down at the man. It was Jandhin, and he was past saving. His throat was torn out, and now the only movement was the languid gushing of blood as the heart continued to feebly pump. Terchin turned around to get his bearings and take stock of the situation.

  Even in the dim light he could tell that the scale of the carnage was shocking. Over to his left there were another pair of bodies, battered ruins of what had once been men. Ahead of him another pair of soldiers – alive – were fighting off three more of the wolves. Then a roar behind him made him whirl around, and what he saw made his blood run cold in his veins.

  It was a giant. Easily twice the height of a man, he towered over the men before him. The giant was clad in crudely stitched animal skins and wielding a cudgel made simply by snapping off a large tree limb. With his free hand, he pushed aside a sapling that was in the way while aiming a kick at the men confronting him.

  A trio of soldiers was making a stand before the giant, one armed with a sword and shield, the other two using their lances as pikes, trying to keep the massive humanoid at bay and stay out of his reach. Having just been roused from sleep themselves, none of them were wearing armor, though it was debatable how much protection armor would offer against an onslaught of a giant.

  Hearing a growl Terchin turned his head just in time to see another wolf bound toward him out of the darkness. Sword at the ready, he deftly stepped to one side at the last possible moment, the leap of the animal missing him by a hand span. As soon as the wolf landed it immediately spun around to leap at him again. But Terchin was expecting this, and when it lunged forward, jaws open, he drove the point of his blade into the breast of the beast, taking care to extend his arm fully so that the snapping teeth were safely kept from his face and throat.

  Another wolf dispatched, he turned his attention back to the giant.

  The giant was swinging his club, which was as long as a man was tall. The threatening lances of the soldiers kept the arc of his swings just out of reach of his targets, though one lance was briefly knocked aside. Then the man with the sword uttered a cry and desperately rushed at the giant. But his timing was off, and he was caught in the chest by a wide sweep of the cudgel that knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground, where he writhed in pain, clutching his chest and trying to regain his wind. The other men shouted for aid, on the edge of panic.

  Then there was a savage laugh, and Terchin was appalled to see another giant stride up to the melee, a large rock held over his head. With each step of his booted feet, the ground trembled. The pelt of a bear was draped around his shoulders, and in the firelight Terchin could see a bristling beard and mad, gleaming eyes awash with bloodlust.

  “You take so long, Rendar!” the arrival bellowed. “Watch - crush like this!” and he heaved the rock at the men. Momentarily frozen in fear, one of the men looked blankly at his new attacker as the heavy projectile caught him on the head, felling him as the mass caved in his skull.

  Terchin gaped in astonishment. Two giants? One was bad enough. Often, they were solitary, staking out a large territory based around a cave or some type of crudely constructed den. If they could take over an isolated farm, they might claim the barn as their dwelling. Sometimes, a few would be lured with the proper inducements to join the army of a warlord, at least for a little while. Terchin had encountered them in battle before, and a well-equipped and prepared party could fend them off – especially if it had a spellcaster among its ranks. But it was rare indeed to be caught unawares by them, for by their very nature the tactics of stealth were not at their disposal. To be subjected to a surprise nighttime attack by giants was as rare as it was shameful. But Terchin did not have the time to dwell on his mortification. He would have to fight them without the aid of spells, or armor, or daylight – or a plan. He looked down at himself. “At least if I die here, it will be with my boots on,” he thought wryly. He was wearing little else.

  Fortunately, they were very fine boots, not merely because they were well made but also because of the enchantment placed upon them. These boots of swiftness had been a recent prized acquisition, and Terchin knew when he obtained them that it was only a matter of time before they would prove their worth.

  Dispensing with his wonted stealthy tactics, Terchin did a quick jog in place and clicked his heels together, activating the boot’s magic. He could sense the sudden arrival of the power that would propel him, amplify the movement of his legs, enable him to run faster than a gazelle and jump higher than a leopard. He just hoped this would be enough to offset the advantages of his attackers. His usual swordplay would be of limited effectiveness here; there would be little use for feints or parries. He would have to trust to the nimbleness of speed to take him out of harm’s way and back in again to inflict hits.

  The second giant had just turned and noticed him when Terchin dashed in a flanking maneuver that turned the nightmarish forestscape into a blur. Before the giant could comprehend what had happened, Terchin swung his sword and cut a gash in the giant’s thigh. A cry of pain was followed by a backhanded blow that almost caught Terchin in the face, but he was already moving after his initial attack and the massive fist failed to connect.

  Terchin continued around his foe in an arc, then changed course to traverse an “S”-shape that took him close to the other giant. At the last second the cudgel wielded by the giant came down in front of him and Terchin jumped, sailing over it easily, although this took him farther from his target than he intended: now he was out of range. He would have to close the distance again to be able to use his sword.

  At this moment Terchin was relieved to see Tostig emerge from the darkness of the forest, followed by another two men. He was covered with blood and panting but otherwise seemed whole. They acknowledged each other and the four of them confronted the giants.

  “Attel!” the first giant shouted, and not waiting for a reply swung his cudgel so that the end was before his companion. The second giant grasped it in his hands so that each giant held an end, with the tree limb parallel to the ground at the level of their waists. Then as one, they charged forward.

  In what looked like a practiced move they leaned forward, lowered the crude weapon and bore down on the men. Terchin was able to dance away while Tostig was able to cushion the blow with his shield as he toppled backward, letting himself fall on his backside rather than absorb the full impact. One of the other men was also knocked down. Before he could recover, one of the giants had released his hold on the cudgel and with one hand seized the man by one of his legs while the other plucked away his weapon and tossed it into the night.

  Holding the man upside-down from an ankle, the giant reached up with his other hand and grabbed the struggling man’s wrists. To Terchin’s horror, the giant then gave the man a savage yank, each burly arm pulling in opposite directions. The soldier screamed incoherently for a second before sinew and cartilage gave way, and his arms were torn from their sockets. The giant emitted an amused chuckle and let his victim fall to the ground.

  The one called Rendar started forward, but Terchin quickly circled him and slashed at the back of his knee, severing the tendon. Rendar stumbled, hobbled by the deep cut. Tostig jumped up as the remaining soldier, overcome by panic, fled in the direction of the road. With the instinctive urges of a predator, the other giant started after him, only pausing to duck under some thick lower tree limbs before accelerating with long, purposeful strides.

  “Go!” Terchin urged Tostig. “I’ll handle this one!” Tostig nodded a fearful assent and took off after them as Terchin assessed the remaining giant’s capabilities. Rendar’s mobility was hindered, though he was hardly neutralized. But Terchin thought his chances of finishing him off were good – as long as no more wolves showed up.

  Rendar was relying on his cudgel more now, standing in place and swinging at Terchin in wide arcs from side to side with both arms. Terchin took a leap backward, then jumped towards his opponent as soon the weapon cleared him. Before Rendar could begin to reverse his stroke Terchin had closed the distance. Swinging his sword, he brought it down on Rendar’s left wrist. The magically vorpal blade cut clean through and lopped off the giant’s hand, which clung to the cudgel for a few moments before dropping to the ground.

  Bellowing in shock and pain, Rendar discarded the club and grabbed at the spurting stump with his remaining hand, eyes wide with shock. Terchin took advantage of the moment of inaction to drop to the ground, hitting it with his shoulder and rolling under and between the legs of the giant. Before he regained his feet he hacked again, this time at the back of the other leg, and the giant sank to his knees.

  Knowing an injured foe – even one mortally wounded – could still be dangerous, Terchin rolled again, this time to one side, anticipating that the giant would turn and lash out with his good arm. But Rendar was still staring at his mutilated limb when Terchin jumped up, his magical boots almost throwing him up into the air. When his feet came into contact with the ground again his sword was ready for another strike. He plunged the blade into the giant’s side, burying the blade halfway until it hit a rib.

  He was wrenching the blade out when he was caught on the side of the head by Rendar’s elbow, a powerful blow that set off an explosion of green stars in his vision. Terchin staggered back a few steps, almost falling. But he managed to recover just as the giant retrieved the club with his remaining hand and pivoted at the waist in a last desperate attempt to kill his attacker.

  “Ugh, giants can sure take a lot of damage,” Terchin thought, struggling to overcome his disorientation. Before Rendar could bring his weapon to bear Terchin struck a final time, stabbing Rendar in the back, impaling him to the hilt. Terchin gave the sword a twist, a move that caused the giant to shudder. He toppled onto his face, convulsed several times and died.

  “One down, one to go,” Terchin muttered. Off to the right he dimly saw a few of his men still fighting another one of the wolves. But beyond the shelter of the trees upon the grassy verge bordering the road he saw the other giant beset by Tostig and two other men.

  It would take but an instant to close the distance, and Terchin selected a gap between the trees and sprinted toward the melee. In a mere four bounds he was about to exit the forest when a protruding tree root that had been hidden in the shadows caught him by the foot. He went down hard, tumbling forward and coming to a stop when his head struck a large rock lurking within a cluster of ferns. Then darkness claimed him and he knew no more.

  When he regained consciousness he was relieved to see Tostig standing over him sporting a look of anxious concern.

  “Milord, are you all right?” he asked as Terchin groaned and began to sit up.

  “Never mind me, I’ll be fine,” Terchin said, then he winced as pain lanced through his ankle. He gingerly touched it with his hands and was reassured to discover it wasn’t broken, only twisted. He accepted Tostig’s offer of assistance and was heaved upright.

  “I take it you were able to dispose of the other giant without me. What are our losses?”

  Tostig was as grim as Terchin had ever seen a man. “Fourteen dead –“

  “Fourteen?!?” Terchin exclaimed in dismay.

  “Yessir. Fourteen killed, another four wounded – three of them critically. That basically leaves me and Sindellan. Not much of an escort,” he concluded mournfully.

  Terchin reeled in shock. They had been ambushed, taken by surprise when they were at their most vulnerable, most of the men asleep and unequipped for battle. They had quite simply been slaughtered. In all his years on the road such a calamity had never befallen a party of which Terchin had been a member. And here he was, the leader, and this attack had essentially wiped out his cohort in one fell swoop. The magnitude of the reversal was difficult to absorb.

  Tostig was not finished, however. “About half dozen of the horses were killed too, the rest ran off. What are your orders?”

  Terchin did not directly respond. ”How did this happen?” he demanded, as much to himself as to the sergeant. “Who was standing the watch?”

  “Krandin.”

  “Where is he?”

  “His body is...” Tostig trailed off as he turned around. “Near the edge of camp over there,” he pointed, “where he was posted.”

  “See to the men. There’s a half-dozen healing potions in one of the packs in my tent. Use them.”

  “Yes, milord,” Tostig replied, and he hurried off.

  Terchin picked up the unlit end of a brand that had been kicked from the fire. Holding it aloft as a torch, he limped over to where the unfortunate sentry’s body lay. He found the body on its side, looking relatively unscathed – unlike the other corpses that had been crushed, torn or otherwise mangled. He knelt on the wet forest floor only to discover that blood was mixed in with the leaves. He put out a hand and turned the corpse on its back. He leaned forward and held the burning torch close to the face. There was a long, straight cut across the neck. Krandin had bled out and been unable to make a sound and alert the camp.

  This added another dimension to the attack. Obviously, no wolf had done this. Neither was it the work of the giants. No, there had been someone else, someone who had snuck up on Krandin and caught him unawares, slitting his throat, probably covering his mouth at the same time. Whoever had done this was skilled – and could be assumed to have survived the battle to fight another day. Frowning, Terchin returned to the center of camp, deep in thought.

  “My lord!” Tostig hailed him from the verge, where he had been tending to one of the injured men. Despite the discomfort, Terchin hastened to meet him. Tostig was standing over the body of the giant he had fought. “This one yet lives!” He drew his sword and prepared to administer a coup de grace.

  “Wait!” cried Terchin. “Stay your hand. I’ve got questions. Maybe he has some answers.”

  “Careful!” Tostig warned him as he approached the fallen giant.

  The giant lay on his back, clutching his abdomen with both hands, trying to keep his innards from spilling out onto the ground. He turned his head to regard Terchin.

  “You –“ he gasped, hatred still blazing in his eyes, “Urdok take you! You kill my brother.”

  “Yes.” Terchin almost stopped there, but then couldn’t help himself. “He had it coming.”

  He half-expected the giant to jump up and attack one final time, but instead he just groaned, a sound that mixed physical and emotional pain.

  Terchin decided to start off simple.

  “What is your name?”

  “Attel, curse you.”

  “I thought this was Duke Tolthurdine’s game preserve. What are you doing here?”

  “We live here. What you do here, little man?”

  “Just passing through and camping for the night. How is it that the duke has giants living in his forest?”

  There was a long pause as Attel clenched his teeth, a wave of agony convulsing him. Terchin knew the wounds the giant sustained were fatal, but who could say how long it would take for Attel to expire? Giants possessed a robust constitution and were infamous for being able to withstand injuries that would quickly slay other humanoids.

  He tried to think of something that would get Attel to talk. Abdominal wounds were often considered to be one of the worst that one could receive in battle, as they often meant a drawn-out, lingering death that could take days.

  “If you answer my questions, I will grant you the boon of a quick death.”

  Attel grunted but still said nothing.

  Terchin didn’t know that much about the culture of giants, but he would attempt to leverage what he did. Thankfully Attel had mentioned the name of the most common giant deity, which gave him an idea.

  “Attel, when you die, the animals of the forest will feast upon your flesh. The very wolves you kept as pets will tear you apart and fight over your bones, and the crows will pick at your face. And when your body has decayed, your scattered remains will be reclaimed by the forest gods, so that when you finally stand before Urdok you will be nothing but a wraith, a pathetic shade with the taint of the corruption of the earth still upon you, because you will not have been cleansed with fire. And Urdok will shun you, and you will never rejoin your ancestors, not your father’s father, nor your mother’s mother. And your pitiful spirit will wander forever about the trackless wastes with the other outcasts between worlds. Do you understand?”

  Attel became visibly distressed; the prospect of enduring unending restlessness in the After filled him with uneasiness. His mouth quivered as if he was about to sob. Then a pitiful wail issued from his bloodied lips. “You are...no good,” he moaned at last. “You a bad man to taunt me so...”

  Terchin was too grim to relent. “Maybe. But you shouldn’t have attacked us. But all is not lost; I have a deal to offer you. If you answer my questions, I will build a funeral pyre for you and burn your body, liberating your spirit fully so you can greet your god clean, completely shorn of earthly connections.

  Attel’s breathing was labored now. “You...would do this?”

  “I would. I swear.” Terchin strove to suppress his impatience. “Have we struck a deal?”

  Attel nodded. Satisfied, Terchin got closer to Attel and crouched down near his massive head.

  “So, again – how is it that the duke has giants living in his forest?”

  “Many seasons ago, duke gave permission to live in forest. All we must do is stay in borders. He say we can hunt animals – and people who come into forest without his leave. This we do.”

  “This is a large area – it must be for you two to live within it and remain hidden. How did you just happen to stumble onto us?”

  “A man comes yesterday. A duke’s man. He says you come. Tells us to kill you. We watch from ridge. We see you are many. But man says it no problem. Wait for you to camp...for darkness to come. Man lets us know when it time.”

  “Where is this ‘duke’s man’?” Terchin demanded. “Does he yet live? Did he run off?”

  “Did not see. That... all I know,” gasped Attel.

  “I believe you,” Terchin solemnly replied. And saying so he raised his sword high and swung, and with a single strike the giant’s head was severed from his body, rolling until it came to rest in a muddy puddle.

  Tostig, who had been standing behind Terchin just in case he needed to jump in, asked, “Milord, so should we start building a pyre?”

  Terchin shook his head. “Oath or no, I’m not helping this thug who butchered so many good men in an unprovoked attack. To the Hells with him.” And for good measure, he spat on Attel’s corpse. “Besides,” he added, “we’ve got better things to do with our time.

  “Tostig, the presence of this agent of the duke troubles me a great deal. Someone has been tracking or following us – or at least is aware of our presence as we traverse the duchy. He must know who I am. But it would have made more sense - and been more profitable for him – to capture me and hold me for a fat ransom rather than kill me. I can only surmise that either the duke has designs on Eskemar itself...which is possible but unlikely. ”

  “Or?” Tostig prompted him.

  “Or...he knows I am after my son and is trying to stop me because he is somehow responsible – or is trying to protect the person that is.”

  “Why would the duke want your son?” Tostig asked, confused by the conjecture.

  “I don’t know. And that is what troubles me most.”