A Paladin's Journey Ch. 16

"Thank you, Anarion," Mandaralorn grunted as he shifted himself until he was sitting back next to Immelanle. The massive gate creaked threateningly as his weight rested against it, but it did not move. "You have done us a great service indeed, and we are in your debt. We were foolish to allow ourselves to be used so." Immelanle placed a comforting hand on his thigh, and he spared her a sad smile.

"Maharad is cunning," Aran said gently. "You are not the first, nor will you be the last to succumb to his whispers."

"What do you ask of us, young Paladin?" Immelanle asked. She crossed her legs, straightened her back and folded her hands at her waist, looking down at him expectantly. The moon appeared again, its light shining through the bars of the gate and illuminating her beige skin, glinting in places as if caught by tiny crystals. Her hair glinted, too, as it swayed with her movements.

"Young," Mandaralorn repeated with a grunt as he studied Aran. "But with such memories, far beyond his own time. You are indeed a fascinating creature, Anarion. So different to the other one."

"Other one?" Aran asked. "You mentioned someone before, to whom you had granted passage. And why would I be different to him? Was he arohim?"

Immelanle frowned, and that confused look crossed her face again. "There was a man, but my memory is clouded of late." She touched her head, then shook it slightly. "I am sorry, Anarion. I cannot remember."

Mandaralorn shook his head also. "I, too, am at a loss, Paladin." He sighed. "Perhaps in time, our memories will return. What I can recall is that it was a man, and he was here perhaps a dozen moons ago."

Aran smiled. "It is of no consequence, I am sure, great ones."

"Perhaps not so great as we believed," Mandaralorn rumbled sadly. "Immelanle and I have much to ponder."

"Yes, husband," Immelanle agreed, turning to Mandaralorn. "But first we must see young Aran through the gates, and then we must visit our people."

Aran stepped back as Immelanle stood up. Mandaralorn followed suit. Aran felt a moment of surprise as Immelanle bent and scooped him up in her hand. "We have many miles to cover, my small friend," she said kindly. "Will you ride on my shoulder?"

"Aye," Aran replied with a grin. A moment later he was seated comfortably beside her ear. Curious, he fingered a few strands of her hair, which felt like a strange blend of rock and silk. She turned her head briefly to eye him, but there was a smile on her pretty face.

"Apologies, Giantess," Aran offered sincerely. "I was merely curious. I hope I did not offend."

"You did not," she said as she firmly grasped two of the iron bars on one side of the gate. Mandaralorn moved to the other, and together they began to push. "I am curious about you, too," she confessed as the metal grated on rock loudly enough to make Aran wince. "Were you but twenty or thirty feet taller I would have done much more than simply play with your hair."

Mandaralorn boomed a short laugh at his wife's words. "Be careful, Paladin," he warned lightly. His massive arms bulged as the gate shifted outward. "She will attempt to keep you if you let your guard down."

"I am sure there are worse things in the world," Aran said softly into Immelanle's ear, unable to stop himself from a little harmless teasing. She was still a woman, after all, no matter how tall. He was pleased to sense a small tremor of excitement run through her.

"I think you are a very dangerous man, Anarion," she replied as the gate came to a stop in the open position. The two Giants walked through, out into the night. Mandaralorn held out a hand to Immelanle, and she took it before they began striding east, into the foothills of the Amarion Peaks.

"Aren't we going to close it?" Aran asked, looking back at the open gate.

"No," Mandaralorn said firmly. "The task has been fulfilled. The gates were guarded until the sun came in the night and banished the shadows, as the prophecy foretold."

Aran had heard of no such prophecy. "How do you know it has come to pass?" He asked.

"Because you came," Immelanle told him. "You are the son of the Sunblade. And Maharad laid shadows upon our souls, which you banished."

"You guarded the gates knowing you would be corrupted?" Aran asked, alarmed.

"No," Mandaralorn replied. "We did not know the meaning of 'shadows,' but we stood guard despite the dangers. Prophecies are often ambiguous, are they not?"

"No doubt," Aran muttered as he looked out over the land from his vantage point upon the shoulder of the Giantess. Rocky slopes littered the landscape, slanting downward west to east, but the rock and stone was gradually giving way to stands of stunted trees and some shrubs. He could sense life, too. Foxes and rabbits and birds, and even the odd mountain lion looking for an early morning meal.

"I sensed your home, and your people, when I was in Dun'Arghol," Aran began. "I knew them for Giants, but I could not tell much else, other than that they were alive. Do you think Maharad has infected them?"

Mandaralorn's face turned grim. "I hope he has not, but we will see soon enough."

"It's strange," Aran mused aloud. "I could not sense his presence in you, yet I have felt him in other humans easily. I worry I almost failed you both."

"You know the hearts of Men," Immelanle said calmly. "But do you know the hearts of the Noroth? We are old, Aran, and have seen much. I suppose we seem very different, to you, even from the Elves and Dwarves."

Her words reminded Aran of a time when Master Bendin back in Korrin had culled a whole herd of long-haired cattle - animals which he had never kept before - he'd bought from a farm up north because they'd started shedding their hair. He'd assumed they were sick, but later discovered that this particular breed of cattle often moulted when accustoming to a new climate. Master Bendin had certainly learned an expensive lesson.

When working with something new, reserve judgment until you know what you are doing.

Aran remained silent for a time, but kept his vala opened out to a few miles' distance. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but the air felt different on this side of the range; heavier and wetter, especially as they moved further down out of the mountains. Many of the vegetation was foreign to him, too, like the fifty-foot tall trees with bare, ghostly trunks, their thick branches sprawling high off the ground. Strange nuts littered the ground beneath them, brown and shaped a little like a wine cup, complete with a hole in one end, as if for the wine.

Another was shorter yet quite bushy, with clusters of narrow leaves and strange yellow flowers, long and with tendrils protruding from their length. They were soft and pliant to the touch and gave off a pleasant, sweet aroma. Flocks of small, brilliantly coloured birds - mostly green, but with blue heads and red breasts and red beaks that lay flat to their faces - crawled around on those trees, apparently seeking the nectar in the flowers. They squawked and cried incessantly to each other as they dined. Aran thought they sounded happy.

After an hour or so, the Giants turned south and entered a series of craggy ravines, some only just wide enough to squeeze through. The smell of cooking meat suddenly reached his nose, and his stomach rumbled expectantly.

Immelanle giggled. It was a surprisingly girlish sound coming from the ancient Giantess. "I remember the arohim always had famous appetites," she said fondly. "I trust that has not changed?"

"Not one whit," Aran replied firmly as he studied the place they were approaching through the vala. In another mile or so, the cracks all met in one enormous opening in the rock. A large village was nestled there, with great houses a hundred feet high built into the very stone of the mountain. He had felt it briefly, back in Dun'Arghol, but had not taken the time to sense its detail.

The village stretched along the mountainside and occupied maybe a square mile of land, from Aran's guess. The largest buildings were at the top, and the smallest at the base. A broad stream, almost a river, tumbled from a recess in the mountainside, splitting the village in two before reaching level ground on the eastern side and curling away to the south, where the rocky terrain again gave way to wide open land. Crops grew there, and Aran could sense sheep and cattle and pigs, too.

Aran thought it looked a beautiful place to live. Many Noroth moved about the village, hauling water or chopping wood or preparing food. Surprisingly, many of them were not as large as Mandaralorn or Immelanle. In fact, some were small indeed, only a few feet taller than Aran.

Before he could ask his companions about it, his vala passed on some more memories. Mountain Giants began life at a much smaller size than Aran's new friends, and as they aged, they slowly grew larger. From what Aran could sense of the villagers, only a small handful were more than thirty feet tall.

"Your village is young," Aran remarked without thinking. "You two are the oldest by a long way." Up above, the narrow patch of sky visible was turning grey as dawn approached.

"It is why we were chosen to guard the gates," Mandaralorn rumbled as he threaded his way through the crevasses just ahead of Aran. "We left the village in good hands, however." After a moment the big Giant asked tentatively, "How many do you sense, Anarion?"

Aran did a quick count. "Fifty-seven, Mandaralorn."

Mandaralorn sighed, relieved. "That is good. Our numbers have grown. That is very good."

"When the Stonefather turned," Immelanle explained. "Our mountains in the north collapsed, killing many of us. We fled here, seeking refuge until the earth calmed. When Mandaralorn and I met with the Dwarves and agreed to build and guard the gates, there were but seven of us left."

"Stonefather?" Aran enquired. He had no memory of that name.

"You call him Vasuda," Mandaralorn said in a hard voice. The big Giant didn't stop or look back, but Aran could sense the anger in him. "He grew us. He, and another of the Titans."

"Vasuda made you? Who was the other Titan?"

"We do not know," Immelanle replied. "Perhaps Sadani or Saruha. It is uncertain."

"Are there any other Giants in Ekistair?" Aran asked.

"None that we know," she replied. "We think that most or all were killed or have fled far away."

"I have seen one of the Amun'noroth," Aran told them. "In a vision. She was far away, perhaps on another land entirely, but she lives."

"Then perhaps some of our kin still endure," Mandaralorn said. "Perhaps there is hope." He looked back over his shoulder and shared a smile with his wife before continuing on.

Soon enough, the crevasse ended, opening up to reveal the village Aran had already seen, in one way. In another way, it still made his jaw drop. The sun was still behind the mountain, so the village was still shaded, but the view from down here, looking up at the huge buildings of stone stretching up the mountain from across the river was spectacular.

"Welcome to Atlos," Immelanle said proudly. "Home of the last Mountain Giants."

This early, many of the windows were glowing warmly with candle or lantern light. A big Giant - only about ten feet shorter than Mandaralorn and with long hair and a beard almost the same shade - straightened from where he was scooping water into a massive wooden bucket on the opposite side of the river and stared at the newcomers. He was dark, as if carved from ebony, and wore not a stitch, as seemed to be the fashion for Mountain Giants.

The bucket - large enough to carry a horse - crashed to the rocky riverbank and rolled into the water where it began to slowly float downstream. Water splashed all over the Giant, but he appeared to be frozen in a trance, and made no move to recover his bucket.

Immelanle and Mandaralorn strode forward into the river, easily wading through its currents. The water came no higher than their thighs at its deepest. Immelanle scooped up the bucket as she crossed. When they reached the other bank, Mandaralorn clapped the darker Giant on the shoulder. "It warms my heart to see you, Verevendi."

Aran looked down at Verevendi from his perch. The fellow looked dumbstruck, if a Giant could be said to look so, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It wasn't surprising, really; Mandaralorn and Immelanle had been gone for over a thousand years.

A tear ran down Verevendi's cheek, then, leaking from beneath a silvery eye. From where Aran sat, he could see over Verevendi's head to the village beyond, where a few other Giants had stopped to look down toward the river. Several called out, pointing, and still others began to emerge, curious. The first houses were less than a hundred yards away, and the sound of bass voices talking excitedly floated across the distance.

Aran gripped and handful of Immelanle's hair to hold himself in place as she leaned forward to plant a kiss on Verevendi's cheek. "You were no higher than my waist when last I saw you," she told the shorter Giant warmly. "And now you have grown into a mighty Noroth indeed!"

Verevendi came to his senses enough to clear his throat and briefly look at his feet. If Aran didn't know any better, he would say the fellow was embarrassed! "You do me much honour, Elder," he replied, keeping his gaze down. Suddenly he spun and looked back toward the village. Raising his hands, he bellowed in a monstrous voice that echoed up the mountain until Aran thought it might bring the whole village down upon their heads.

"THE ELDERS HAVE RETURNED! THE ELDERS HAVE RETURNED!"

Suddenly, Giants of all sizes, shapes and shades began pouring down toward the river in long, loping strides. More emerged from buildings higher and higher up and hurriedly made their way down the mountainside. A gathering formed around Mandaralorn, Immelanle and Verevendi. And Aran, of course, though he was probably largely unnoticed.

One thing that Aran noticed, however, is that most of the shorter Noroth's eyes resembled those of a human, rather than the glowing spheres of their larger kin. Was the glow something that came with age, then? His vala-memories were silent on this matter, so he made a mental note to find out later.

The Elders received many tearful greetings, and offered their own in return. Some of the older, bigger Norothi hugged Immelanle as if embracing an old friend, then planted affectionate kisses on Mandaralorn's cheeks.

The men greeted the Elders differently. For Immelanle, they bowed deeply before receiving kisses from her on each cheek. For Mandaralorn, they clasped forearms with a loud clap and briefly rested their foreheads together. For the younger Giants, the Elders bent or knelt so that nobody was left out.

It took some time for the Elders to greet fifty-seven Giants each, but Aran watched and stayed silent, not wanting to disturb their ritual. Rituals were important for many peoples. He noticed he got no few strange looks during the welcoming, but none remarked on the presence of the small human on Immelanle's shoulder.

One Giantess in particular caught his eye. Well, many of them did; each was as beautiful as the next, and combined with their nudity, Aran certainly had plenty to admire. One, however, was no more than a foot taller than Aran with creamy marble-like skin. Her lips and nipples were pink, as were her finger and toenails. Her hair was a cascade of shimmering, silky cobalt, shining blue-black in the early morning light. Her figure was slender, yet she was full-breasted. Aran found it difficult to take his eyes off her. He found himself wondering how old she was.

When Immelanle knelt to greet the diminutive Norothi, she caught Aran's eye and offered him a warm smile. He returned it, wishing he could find a moment to introduce himself. Her eyes - a similar hue to her hair - sparkled alluringly.

When the welcoming came to an end, Verevendi - who seemed to be in a position of authority - clapped his hands and politely suggested that everyone disperse and allow the Elders to settle back in. The Giants did as he asked and made their way back up to their houses. A few strode off south, following the river to where the open fields lay. Aran watched the small Giantess leave; her bottom had a wonderful bounce to it.

"Come!" Verevendi said jovially as he started for the village. "Your house has been kept for you, Elders. Just as you left it."

"You do us great kindness," Immelanle told the dark Giant as she and Mandaralorn followed. The group crossed the hundred yards of flat rock that separated the village from the river and began to ascend the mountainside. A wide path wound between the houses, sometimes with steps cut into the stone when the path would be too steep otherwise. Up and up they climbed, until Verevendi stopped before the largest building in Altos.

A good fifty yards across and a hundred high, the magnificent structure was carved out of the very mountain itself and sat like the crown of the village, straddling the outcrop where the river exited the mountain. A path ran up each side of the village, on either side of the gushing waterway, but Verevendi had taken them up the southern path, which ended at a wide set of steps that led to the lower balcony of the big house.

Aran gawked at the architecture. All rounded curves with no sharp angles, the house looked like it had been made from centuries of weathering, rather than carved by hand. Grown out of the stone itself might have been a better interpretation. The massive, arched windows, thirty feet high and at least that far off the ground, were open and glassless, looking out from behind the balcony's railing, and above them, more windows indicated a second level.

"It is as I remember," Mandarlorn said fondly as he ascended the steps in two long strides and walked along the balcony. He ran his hand over the railing as he gazed down at the village below. Immelanle followed him. "Why didn't you make use of this house?" The Elder asked Verevendi once he'd reached the end and walked back. "You were entitled, as steward."

"I found that I could not, Eldest," Verevendi replied. "It did not feel proper."

Aran quickly clung to Immelanle's hair again as she captured Verevendi's face between her palms and bent to kiss him, this time firmly on the lips. A deep moan rumbled in her throat. Aran suspected there was little ritual involved, this time. He glanced at Mandaralorn, but the big Giant was simply watching his wife kiss Verevendi with a small smile curving his lips.

"Elder," Verevendi breathed when Immelanle released him. "You do me much honour!"

Immelanle moved closer to him, so her titanic bosom was brushing his long beard. "I plan on honouring you for several hours, steward, very soon." She purred hotly and touched his mouth with the tip of her finger before moving away, towards her husband. Aran glanced behind him to see Verevendi hungrily staring after her.

Mandaralorn grinned when his wife reached him and folded her into his arms. "You may enjoy my wife," he told Verevendi over Immelanle's shoulder. "When she and I are finished together. It has been many years since we have lain together, and I wish for us to be alone, this time."

Verevendi bowed. "Of course, Eldest."

Immelanle turned her head briefly from her husband's embrace. "Verevendi? Will you take Aran with you? He is to be treated as our most respected of guests."

Verevendi bowed. "Of course, Eldest. I will show him the village and offer him a repast." He held out a hand, but Aran politely declined. "If it's all the same to you, Master Steward," he said, standing on the Giantess's shoulder. "I think I'll stretch my legs." He dropped down to the ground, landing lightly on the stone deck of the balcony.