Chapter The Little Giants

The council of little giants stare at us with their lidless black-marble eyes. There’s no way to tell whether they are talking or not, for their round, lipless mouths don’t seem to move at all.

‘I just told them who you are, Aunt Kath,’ Haylis says, ‘but they’ve already recognised Kaishen.’

‘In that case, might they consider offering the slayer of Elisaad a discount?’ Kathanhiel asks with a winning smile.

Haylis nods, and returns to banging her chain of peculiar bells. With two soft-tipped mallets in each hand, she hits them in complex sequences, often three or four at once. They don’t make a sound – not in human ears anyway – but the little giants seem to be shaking their heads in response.

‘Fifty thousand crowns for a coach to Iborus, non-negotiable – oh but they –’ Haylis cups her ears. ‘They’re offering to send their hunters.’

‘Hunters! Fighting giants!’ Arkai exclaims. ‘A rare sight indeed – at an enclave in the heartlands, no less! If we’ve a legion of giants –’

Turns out, there are only two hunters in the entire enclave: a pair of siblings named Oon’Shang and Oon’Shei, both over ten feet tall and not-so-little in every aspect. They greet us with polite bows, then single out Kathanhiel and drop to one knee before her. Oon’Shang, the bigger of the two with an orange-coloured veil over her face, unties a bracelet from her wrist and lays it out; threaded onto it are twenty-eight dragon incisors, some the size of a thumb, others longer than my entire arm.

Trophies.

‘They’re honoured by your presence,’ Haylis says, ‘and wish to join our quest as coach runners. They pledge to you their lives in the hope that one day their ancestral home in the Endless Ranges may be reclaimed.’

Kathanhiel shakes their hands – or rather, their index fingers. ‘Many tales I’ve heard of the dragon hunters amongst the little giants. I am grateful to be placed under your care.’

The siblings lead us from their simple, stone-chiselled houses to a walled field. Here the grass had been thoroughly cleared, and sitting upon the barren dirt are rows upon rows of massive rickshaw-like carriages with hulls of shaped steel and crystalline windows of solid quartz. Some of them are so large they have five human-height wheels on each side; one of those could probably fit a hundred people.

The one we hired is the smallest by far: four bedrooms, complete with a bath, a working kitchen, and a stable big enough to fit three horses.

‘They’re ready to depart when we are,’ Haylis says, already eyeing the luxurious interior with an eager expression.

To be inside the most expensive mode of transportation in the Realms – my butt on the same leather seat a prince from the Vassal States would have sat on, seeing people-shapes blur past the window, listening to the neighing of our nervous horses in the next room, passengers now because they couldn’t keep up – is mildly exciting.

Out front Haylis is braving the wind and talking with Oon’Shang, who is pulling our carriage at a neck-breaking sprint while Oon’Shei, the younger brother, pushes from the rear; he also carries on his back a bundle of six-foot javelins and a scythe-like blade that could easily lop off the head of an elephant. The weapons look used. Well used.

Being hunters, neither of them are particularly good at coach running.

As yet another massive bump sends everything airborne, Arkai, who is sitting on the roof as lookout, expresses his displeasure with polite language.

‘...so be more careful!’ he shouts, ostensibly at Oon’Shei, who can’t hear let alone understand a word he’s saying.

‘Do you see anything?’ Kathanhiel asks from her leather-bound chair in the cabin.

‘No, nor do I want to.’

Arkai’s squad of Ink Scouts had gone on ahead while we were bargaining for the coach, but by now they are almost certainly behind us, since for the past two days the little giants had kept this pace up without a moment of rest. Haylis says this is perfectly normal; two weeks of continuous running is apparently a popular exercise routine for them, second only to digging a personal tunnel through a mountain.

She also says that all those carriages at the enclave were built by one giant, which seems hysterically far-fetched. Unlimited stamina immeasurable skill – how can the little giants be so capable? These were the people that the dragons had driven out of the Endless Ranges almost a thousand years ago, and all this time they have been trying to return and failing.

Compared to them, what can tiny humans do?

I bring this up with Kathanhiel.

‘You only see their strengths,’ she says. ‘The little giants value skill and self-actuation above all else. Even for an organisation as simple as running a coach service they require human assistance, because working together is simply not a part of their life.’

‘But they’re so strong, and smart too.’

‘They are, but so are the dragons.’ She taps the scabbard of Kaishen hanging at her side. ‘This sword was made by one who was known as Ush’Ra the Godsmith, a paragon of their people. The art of its making had been lost because its creator refused to share it with others. That’s how it is with them.’

‘Really? But I-I’ve heard that, um…’

‘That it came from a bolt of lightning?’ She smiles. ‘Or is it my pulling it from a rock in the middle of a lake? That one’s my favourite. When I was young I imagined myself as the hero in it. Little did I know...’

‘Did…Ush’Ra the Godsmith…make more swords like Kaishen? Maybe if-if I could get one too I can be of some use to you.’

Her face darkens. ‘One such sword is one too many,’ she says quietly, and not to me, ‘and I don’t need you to fight. There’s nothing I can’t take care of with Kaishen at my side.’

‘Y-yes my lady.’

She blinks. ‘I like this about you Kastor. You always ask the right questions.’

‘I just want to be of more useful than the esquire who cooks and cleans.’

‘You’ll do much more than that.’ She stands and moves to the window. ‘Would you mind go checking on the horses? That last bump must’ve startled them.’

Rough of her to counsel me so well then immediately undermine the effort by giving out a menial task. As I open the door to the next cabin I glance back; Kathanhiel is holding up her sword against the rain-pelted window, as if offering it to the light. She looks like she needs to be alone.

Raining. Always raining.

The horses, shut in and constantly rocked about, are displeased at the accommodation. I try my best to calm them down, but the farrier at the winter palace didn’t say anything about handling horses the carriages they are normally pulling. Killisan is the quietest of the three, savouring a coil of rope like a mouthful of caviar. Bobby ignores me completely and goes on swishing his tail about like a princess. Haylis’ horse headbutts me in the gut. Twice.

‘I mean, what was I supposed to say?’ I ask Killisan, who is looking at me with attentive wisdom. ‘Something’s troubling her but I don’t know what it could be. Should find out what it is, shouldn’t I? I mean…I can’t really do anything else. I’m just so useless, you know?’

‘You ask a lot of questions.’

Arkai’s voice, from behind. I jump three feet into the air and accidentally slap Haylis’ horse on the head. It wastes no time headbutting me for the third time.

‘Argh! S-s-s-sorry, didn’t notice you were –’

‘She hasn’t told you much,’ he says.

‘I…no, not really, but I don’t need to know everything to do my job.’

‘Yet you keep asking.’ Before I can come up with a reasonable excuse he cuts me short. ‘Mind your own business. The job of an esquire is to serve without question. I suggest you take that literally.’

‘I will sir.’

‘Will you really?’

‘I…I...I worry about her, that’s all.’

’She’s going after the Apex all by herself and I understand that she’s capable but…but there are hundreds of them, right? And I’m not even sure what I’m doing here, let alone…what would do to help her, Arkai?’

Five seconds of silence, then it stretches to ten.

‘Uh…Arkai?’

He’s gone. I had taken my eyes off him during that little speech and now there is only a pile of damp hay where he stood. He’s probably back on the roof now, drenched to the skin yet stubbornly keeping watch. It’s cold up there; I wouldn’t last five minutes.

Arkai has been up there all day.

Three days go by without incident. Every morning a pigeon from the Ink Scouts would tap its beak on the cabin window, and Arkai would let it in, feeding it strips of jerky from yet another pouch on his belt while reading to the rest of us the message bound to its foot.

today’s message begins.

As for the vast plains of the north:

’…

’ Arkai finishes with a frown. ‘This should not be possible. They strike within a minute of sighting…unless they’re allowing people to flee? But why? For what purpose?’

‘To be able to restrain their bloodthirst…Rutherford is indeed formidable,’ Kathanhiel says as she paces from one end of the cabin to the other. ‘There is a purpose to this restraint. Has to be.’

‘After what Elisaad did it’s difficult to imagine any act of sophistication.’

‘The Elisaad we faced had been…weakened, considerably.’ Kathanhiel struggles. ‘He had not the mind for schemes.’

‘Weakened?’ Arkai raises an eyebrow. ‘I don’t recall you mentioning such a thing.’

‘I had no reason to tell you.’

The right side of Arkai’s face twitches, ever so slightly.

I speak up for no good reason: ‘So…how can Rutherford be so different? I mean, it has the same consciousness as all the Apex that came before, so shouldn’t it be…I don’t know…pretty much the same?’

Arkai stares at me like he wants to slit my throat – not an unreasonable reaction.

Kathanhiel, on the other hand, seems relieved. ‘The physiology of the Apex changes drastically the way they think. Ask yourself, would you still think and behave the same way if you’re thrust into a different body?’

Images come rushing in – this is all too familiar an exercise – and it’s immediately apparent what the answer is. Lots of unpleasant rust on the end of this string; better not pull on it again.

‘Kastor?’

‘Y-yes my lady. Uh, no, I wouldn’t be the same, not even close. I get what you mean. Please don’t mind me and get back to what you were saying.’

She gives me a smile. ‘What of the ferry, Arkai? Can we still –’

He shakes his head with visible effort. ‘The Ford garrison has commandeered all able vessels as per the evacuation decree. There should be nothing larger than a dinghy left along the river.’

Kathanhiel freezes mid-stride. ‘That decree should only be issued upon my consent.’

‘We were in no condition to wait,’ Arkai snaps. ‘As it stands, I suggest we stick together and run the highway with utmost haste. I shall send word to nearby enclaves, ask them to give us as many coaches as possible for use as decoys – by Maker that’ll make a dent in our operational budget –’

‘Don’t be so rude, mister,’ Haylis speaks up from her spot in the corner. ‘No wonder she doesn’t like you.’

Arkai ignores her.

‘It won’t work.’ Kathanhiel says. ‘Dragons cannot be outrun, and they have the numbers to destroy every carriage at once, decoy or not.’ Her fingers are tapping rapidly on Kaishen’s grip. ‘I want to risk the Ford. The riot can be circumvented. There has to be a ship available that can take you to Iborus safely.’

’Why are you so about that?!’ Arkai asks, voice rising.

‘I will not put my esquires in danger.’

Haylis puts up her hand: ‘I’m still staying by the way.’ Everyone ignores her.

‘You are being illogical.’ Arkai says. ‘Sending Kastor into a riot cannot be “safe”.’

‘You will be with him,’ Kathanhiel says calmly. ‘Put to the sword all who stand in your way.’

I look at Haylis and see her looking back, startled. She didn’t just say that. Kathanhiel, hero of the Realms, didn’t just say that.

‘Listen to yourself,’ Arkai says. ‘Are you sure you are ready for this quest?’

For a moment Kathanhiel’s grip tightens around Kaishen, as if fighting an urge to unsheathe it. Then she blinks, and pulls her hand away with an almost inaudible sigh.

‘There are ironclads at Iborus,’ she says quietly. ‘If one could be sent down –’

‘Send down – by the Maker, Kathanhiel, the fortress is surrounded by a thousand dragons!’

‘That will change. As soon as they detect my presence they’ll flock to me instead.’

‘You know that for sure, do you?’

‘Rutherford will tell them to,’ she says slowly. ‘It should remember me. It must.’

Arkai swallows hard, and when he speaks again his voice is back to normal. ‘Then what? After you draw the attention of a thousand dragons, then what? Will you kill all of them?’

‘Yes,’ she says.

For a moment the fire in Arkai’s eyes go dim, but only for a moment.

‘That is the most arrogant thing I have ever heard.’

Kathanhiel’s face turns a dull red. ‘I’ll not have you insult my abilities.’

Arkai shakes his head, shoulders slumped. His look of weary resignation has a practiced ease to it, as if this has always been how their conversation would end. How many times must he have argued like this with Kathanhiel, knowing before they have even started that she would not change her mind?

‘I just want you to live,’ he mutters. ‘What is so wrong with that?’