A Paladin's Journey Ch. 16

"Very well, Master Aran," the dark Giant replied. Immelanle and Mandaralorn disappeared into the house as Verevendi started back toward the village. The smells of cooking food intensified as the morning sun rose higher. With the sun still behind the mountain, most of the village was still in shadow, yet the warm lights shining from the windows high above the ground illuminated the place well.

"Consider Altos your home," Verevendi rumbled as he walked. His strides were long, and Aran picked up his pace to a light trot, so the Giant didn't have to slow himself down too much. "Am I moving too quickly? I will slow, if you prefer."

"Not at all," Aran said with a grin. "I've been sitting down far too long, and my legs were restless."

"Very well, Master Aran," Verevendi replied as they passed through a stretch of path lined with several huge houses nestled into the mountain. "May I offer you something to eat? I have heard your stomach growling several times, now."

Aran grimaced. "Is it that loud? I apologise, Master Steward. It has been some time since I've eaten."

"Then we shall remedy this problem, my friend," Verevendi said warmly. Aran liked Verevendi; he had a genuine way about him, and made Aran feel like he belonged here. Giants passed them on the path from time to time, all offering a friendly greeting and taking care not to step on Aran. He would have evaded an unwary step easily, of course, but the gesture was still appreciated.

A few times a big head emerged from a high window to get a look at Aran as he jogged down the massive street. He supposed it looked comical to the Giants; such a small creature in a place where everything was built so big.

When they reached near the bottom of the village, where the smallest structures were - some of them not much bigger than the ones in Aran's old village - Verevendi stopped in a wide, open area, roughly circular with a large fire burning in the centre. "The houses here are likely closer in size to what you are used to," the Giant said with a smile. "If you wish to rest, I will find accommodations. As for food, I will return shortly with something that will no doubt please you."

Just as Aran was about to thank the steward, the pretty Giantess from earlier appeared from one of the nearby houses and hurried over. Her cobalt-blue head came no higher than Verevendi's shin. "If it pleases, Steward," she began, looking up at Verevendi. "I will offer our guest shelter." Her voice was light, though it carried an attractive huskiness, not unlike Elaina's.

Verevendi looked down at her and fingered his silvery beard for a moment. "Yes, Evoni," he said slowly. "I think that is acceptable, and you are your own woman, now, with your own household. Show young master Aran here your utmost hospitality. It is the wish of the Elders."

The look that Evoni - Aran liked her name - shot at him from beneath her cobalt tresses sent an excited tingle into his chest. Verevendi offered his goodbyes and made his way back up the path, leaving Aran and Evoni alone. She said nothing, but her brilliant eyes studied him intently, as if she was trying to unearth his deepest secrets with her gaze alone.

After a few moments, Aran spoke first. "Hello, Evoni. I am Aran." He crossed the few feet between them and offered his hand.

She looked down at his hand curiously. "You greet me as if I were a Noroth," she said, her expression confused. "But I am a Norothi." She glanced down at her bare body. "I would think that is obvious, even to a stranger." Her face was unreadable, but Aran thought she might be having fun with him. Still, his eyes wandered below her face, over her full breasts and flat belly to her bare sex, as hairless as his own.

Remembering how the Giants of opposing sexes greeted each other earlier, he stepped in and embraced Evoni, then planted a kiss on each of her cheeks. He couldn't help but note the softness of her skin, or the smell of her hair, which hinted at some sort of herbal soap that Aran didn't recognise. Through the vala, he sensed a thrill of excitement shoot through her, centring in her belly. He stepped back, feigning an uncertain demeanour. "Is that more appropriate?"

She cleared her throat, and saw a tinge of rose in her creamy cheeks. "It will suffice, master Aran."

"Aran, please," he said with a smile. "No need for master."

She inclined her head. "Very well. If you'll follow me?" She turned and made for the house she had exited before, and Aran was more than happy to trail behind. Her bottom was round and perky, and it moved with a delightful wiggle as she walked.

Something told him he was going to enjoy his time with the Giants very much, though he doubted he could stay long.

***

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CHAPTER 16.1: Ulunn

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Panicked shouts awoke Smythe from his sleep. He sat bolt upright in bed, dislodging Elsa from where she was laying with her cheek on his shoulder. She protested sleepily and rolled over as Smythe opened his vala. To his left, faint moonlight streamed in through the arched window on the southern wall, between the bed and the tall darkwood dresser.

The Chapel and its surroundings sprung into his awareness, and the source of the shouting quickly became apparent. A horde of ulunn was pouring out of the forest and over the south wall. Dozens of Goblins, short and wiry and sharp-nosed, grinning maliciously as they ran alongside forest Trolls, hulking hammer-faced brutes ten feet tall and wielding rough clubs the size of a man. Most of the ulunn were naked, though some wore rough cloths over their loins.

Smythe had been preparing the Chapel for a Herald attack from the north, not a darkspawn raid from the south, of all places! Where the bloody hells had they come from? There was nothing between the Chapel and the Forgotten Coast but more forest, and Smythe hadn't sensed any darkspawn on his several scouting excursions.

As far as he could tell, there were no more than about fifty Goblins and ten Trolls, all told. Smythe had maybe enough fighting men, now - if they could be called that - to repel this raid, but most of them were asleep.

The men on watch were hollering in warning. Smythe sensed a couple of boys sprinting up the yard to the rear door, yelling at the top of their lungs. In seconds, the swarm would overrun the handful of sentries Smythe had placed at the south end of the building. Cursing himself for not leaving more men to watch the southern side, he was out of bed in a flash and across the room to snatch Lightbringer up from where she rested by the door. Opening his vala as far as he was able, he whipped the blade free of her scabbard and charged at the south window, flinging himself through it and out into the night, surrounded by the pale glow of the sword.

The sentries - a dozen men who had been farmers only a week or two ago - had turned to run in fear, no doubt seeking the safety of the Chapel. "Hold your position!" Smythe yelled as he alighted on the grass. Shards of glass fell from his hair and shoulders as he started down the yard. It was a miracle he hadn't severed an artery coming through window like that, especially since he hadn't stopped to dress.

The feeling men skidded to a halt, staring at Smythe in amazement. "Protect the rear entrance! Get your arses into a shield wall, now!" He roared, launching them into action. Hurrying past Smythe, they scrambled together, lining up in a kneeling position and pushing the edges of their round bucklers together until they made a half-circle curving away from the Chapel door.

Behind him, he sensed Kedron racing through the Chapel, sword in hand and bellowing: "We're under attack! Up now! Up now!"

"Good lad," Smythe muttered as he watched the ulunn racing toward him. With a roar, he threw himself forward, charging down the yard. He needed to buy enough time for Kedron to wake the Chapel and organise a defence.

Dagger-wielding Goblins screamed shrilly as he met their line head-on. Spinning Lightbringer as he never had before, he twisted his way into the horde, taking heads, legs, arms, anything that came in reach of his glowing blade. A sharp pain stung at his right thigh where a Goblin got through, slashing him with a wickedly curved blade.

Goblins often tipped their weapons with poison, and this one was no different, though Smythe felt his vala immediately go to work on the wound, slowing the blood leaking down his leg and containing the venom.

Back toward the Chapel, men and women - many of them as bare as Smythe - were spilling from the rear door and bolstering the single line being bravely held by the night watchmen. So far, only a few Goblins had made it past Smythe, but the shield wall was holding.

Smythe spared enough of his attention to sense what was happening inside the Chapel. Ari was rushing about, ordering people onto pre-determined tasks. Early on, Smythe had sat down with the former mayor of Rostin and come up with a plan for this very situation. Ari would be ordering the children and those unable to fight into the cellar, while others would be charged with seeing to the wounded. Aros pray there weren't too many of those.

Smythe's focus was pulled back to the fight as two Trolls lumbered through the Goblin pack, swinging their clubs threateningly and not caring that any Goblins within their reach were crushed or flung aside. A circle opened up around them as Goblins cleared the way, not wanting to be in reach of their larger and careless allies.

With the Goblins giving him space, Smythe flowed forward to meet the Trolls, who squinted before Lightbringer's glow. They both swung blindly, and he took the hand of the first one at the wrist, sending the truncheon spinning away still clutched by thick green-brown fingers. Green blood sprayed into the air as the Troll roared in pain and clutched its stump.

By a stroke of luck, the wounded Troll stumbled into the other, and Smythe used the opportunity to attack while they were tangled up. Sliding his feet along the ground so as to keep his footing on the dewy grass, he darted in and hamstrung the second Troll, bringing it to one knee as it bellowed in pain. A big hand swept around, trying to catch Smythe, but he was already moving away. Three more strikes, and two headless Trolls lay on the grass.

The surrounding Goblins and Trolls balked for a moment, looking at the hulking corpses at Smythe's feet. Then, as if driven by a single mind, the Goblins all charged for the Chapel. "Fuck," Smythe growled, knowing he couldn't stop them all. He began doing his best to take down as many as he could, but four of the Trolls hemmed him into a tight circle.

"Where the fuck did you all come from?" He growled as he raised Lightbringer and set himself in the defensive Mountain stance. It was a stance best used for moments like this; bad for attacking, but handy for when you needed to keep yourself alive long enough to figure a way to win. He could have leaped over the Trolls and given himself room to fight, but if they were distracted with him, here, then they were less likely to run at the villagers, who already had their hands full with the Goblins.

Even now, Smythe could sense the shield wall cracking, and several Goblins had squeezed through. A handful of the women were already under the effects of their poison and succumbing to unnatural arousal. He put his focus back on his immediate problem as the Trolls began to swing their thick clubs.

At first, he kept them at bay, moving faster than he ever had in his life, dodging, ducking, parrying with Lightbringer held tight to his body, hilt high and blade facing down. He even managed to score some hits, punishing those Trolls that were too slow, or those that left themselves open enough for him to get at them.

The longer Smythe stayed in this circle, the more he began to see patterns in their actions. If he wasn't mistaken, the Trolls were coordinating their attacks. Normally solitary wanderers, this was very unusual behaviour for a forest Troll - or any Troll, for that matter.

His thoughts were halted suddenly as a club clipped the side of his head and he stumbled. Looking up, a round, earthy-coloured face grinned down at him as the Troll raised its wooden club high. Beady eyes bulged, then, as a sword point emerged from its chest, protruding a few inches before disappearing and reappearing again, this time in its belly.

"Kedron, no!" Smythe cried as the Troll spun to face the par'vala. Through the Troll's thick legs, Smythe could see the young arohim standing there, naked as the day he was born and glaring up at the Troll, sword held steady before him. "You're not ready for this!"

"I'm not leaving you, Master," Kedron said firmly without taking his eyes off the Troll. The other Trolls had all turned to look at Kedron curiously, as if wondering whether he was of concern, or negligible. Casually, the Troll facing Kedron swung its club in a sweeping motion, left to right, but the par'vala leaped back nimbly.

"Stubborn lad," Smythe growled, though not without a touch of pride. He could see the glow of Kedron's vala surrounding him. Getting to his feet, he shook his head to clear it and launched a full attack at the other seven Trolls, knowing he was likely signing his own death warrant. Two, he could beat. Three, maybe. Seven was a different thing altogether, and forest Trolls were not as big and clumsy as their mountain kin. Still, if he could take a few down with him then perhaps the Chapel would survive.

"You need to cut their heads off!" Smythe yelled to Kedron. A brief gap in the action showed Kedron evading the Troll's attacks, but the less experienced swordsman had yet to score a strike. "Else they will keep getting back up!"

What Kedron said in response was swallowed by the rising din of the fight. Roaring Trolls, screeching Goblins and shouting men and women. Smythe felt a pang of sadness as he fought. Another few weeks, and the villagers might have been ready for this attack.

We almost made it work, Aran. He thought sombrely. It was a fine idea. We just needed more time. He dodged a savage kick from a wide foot, only to take a club to the shoulder which threw him to the side and into another kick, this one pushing him to the ground.

With a grimace, he began to push himself up, but a huge foot planted itself on his back, pressing him back down. He tried to scream in pain as his ribs threatened to break, but the air was being squashed out of his lungs.

Almost did it. He thought again as his vision darkened. So close. I'm sorry, Elsa. His last wish was that his meldin was granted a quick, painless death, so she did not have to suffer his own.

***

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16.2: Shipwrecked

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The Slipfinger bucked and tossed like an unruly stallion as the storm ravaged the Wild Sea. Usually calm and peaceful contrary to its name, the ocean was currently in turmoil, and the ship threatened to break apart at any moment. This was the third storm in a week that had rolled in from the north, and each time the ship had held together. Kyra prayed that it would this time, too.

She stood in the bow, her feet planted and one hand gripping a taut line that ran up from the deck to the foremast, where the sails billowed outward with strenuous urgency behind the fierce winds. That was one benefit of these storms; the ship was making the voyage south much faster than expected.

She was up here alone; everyone else bar the necessary crew was below decks until the weather settled. Berten had called her foolish for risking herself needlessly, but Kyra knew her abilities; she would remain safe unless the entire ship went down, and even then her chances of survival were good, provided she found land in time.

Giant waves towered high above, and the ship angled upward until she reached their peak before racing down the other side. A part of Kyra wanted to laugh with the exhilaration of it all. She was soaked to the bone and had been for an hour or more, but her vala kept her warm. Another part of her wanted to weep with joy, for the power she could feel far to the southeast was more beautiful than anything she had ever imagined.

It was the same vala she'd felt back in Palistair, but this time it did not scare her with its terrible force. Now, she wanted to lie back and let it wash over her, to lose herself in its gentle, soothing eddies. Warm tears trickled down her cheeks, mingling with the cold rain. More than eight-hundred years she had walked this world, and she'd been lost for many of them, seeking a home in a world that offered none to those like her. This man, whoever he was, would offer her a home once again.

So distracted was she with the presence of the distant, mysterious vala, that she didn't sense the reef until the Slipfinger slammed against it. The ship lurched and groaned with the impact, and the sounds of splintering beams battled the wind and rain for dominance. Kyra would have been thrown overboard were it not for her death grip on the line in her hand.

Panicked shouts from the crew came from behind her, whipped away into the storm by the gale. Men scrambled about the deck, slipping on the wet boards as the ship heaved again, picked up by another wave. Kyra braced herself as the vessel was dashed onto the rocks again, this time listing dangerously to the left and putting the entire ship at an angle that threatened capsizing.

As she watched, a stout sailor slipped and began to slide down the deck. His hands scrabbled for a handhold, but there was nothing between him and the portside railing, and even if he managed to hand onto that, he would drown if the ship began to sink, which it no doubt would.

With a curse, she let go of her rope and flung herself forward, leaping high off the deck and catching another line that ran between the foresail and main mast. Flinging her body weight forward and down, she released that line and plummeted for the sliding crewman. Her boots found the railing just as her hand seized his forearm, stopping him dead.

He stared up at her with a shocked look. "Where did you-? How?" He stammered, eyes wide. He was a handsome enough fellow, she supposed, with that broad, burly body and tanned coppery skin, and she could feel hard muscles beneath the skin on his arm. The ship groaned again and shifted threateningly. Kyra looked down to see her boots now fully submerged. The ship was sinking.

With a grunt, she grabbed the waistline of his trousers and heaved, tossing him bodily back up the slanting deck. He sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing until he caught hold of a dangling line. Sailor safe, for now, Kyra jumped again, this time bound for the doorway at the stern that led to the cabins and the hold below the deck. Her vala told her that water hadn't entered that part of the ship, yet, but it wouldn't be long.

She made her way across the ship like a monkey in the jungle, vaulting off slanted masts and swinging off lines, no longer concerned with concealing her abilities. When she was close to the door, she launched forward off the main mast and collided with the solid wood boots first. The door splintered and collapsed inward with a crash. She hurried down the stairs inside, walking more on the wall than on the steps, with the ship now even further on its side.

The hallway below was crammed with frightened passengers and crew, all trying to squeeze their belongings out into the hall. Berten's voice could be heard through the din, from the other end of the hallway. "Everyone out!" He cried. "Abandon ship! Leave your belongings behind, they'll only weigh you down!"

In a rush, people started surging for the stairs. Kyra pushed herself to one side to avoid being trampled. Thankfully, there weren't that many bodies on the ship, just the crew and a dozen of Berten's girls from the tavern. When the hall was mostly empty, Berten's eyes fell on Kyra. "Well, at least you're alright," he said gruffly. He was shirtless, and his trousers looked as if they'd been hurriedly laced up. His huge Orc bodyguard was behind him, looking hardly perturbed by the surrounding catastrophe.