CHAPTER 16: THE SUN AND THE WATER

The late morning sun warmed Falinor’s back as he steered the sloop down the river Charr. The warmth was welcome, as the nights were chilly and the cold waters of the river kept the decks cool.

The fields and the prairies had long since gone as the terrain had first become more varied and hilled, eventually making way for thick forests as the sloop moved closer to their intended destination.

The trees—giants in and of themselves—loomed overhead, their light brown trunks thick and hard, unlike many of the softer woods in the world, climbed toward the heavens, their trunks and canopies of needles tapering to sharp points and provided much shade along the riverbanks and a forbidding darkness within.

Probably due to such thick forests and also the hills, the wind was slight, but the current helped push the boat down river as the trees slowly fell away to their stern. Birds chirped merrily, and at some few times, giants could be seen in the forest felling trees and hunting. One young couple of loud giants, had argued noisily about how to get at a nest of honeybees too high for them to climb. Falinor could not understand a word of what they said, by Harrkania played interpreter, all the time the princess had laughed at their buffoonish quarrelling.

He had smiled, seeing her in such good spirits.

Falinor had never expected to find a beautiful young giantess—the princess of the Giant Isles no less—when he came from across the sea to do war with them. Even in her need to gain back her sword, and having just battled with giants on the river not long ago, she was happy, vibrant and full of enthusiasm.

Perhaps she was naive and had not been hardened to the harsh realities of the world. Falinor thought that, should that happen, something beautiful in the world would, at that moment be lost forever. In any event, her laughter over the giants seeking sweet honey and getting stung for their efforts had been days ago now.

Now, Harrkania lay on the deck, her fingers interlaced behind her head as she smiled, her eyes closed. Falinor would not have minded similar relaxation, but for the most part, had foregone such pleasures. Alert he had remained, as he knew that trouble would not leave them be. Not for long.

And yet days of peaceful sailing on the river Charr had unfolded. Falinor found himself at ease enough to let his mind wander, to wonder about things.

Pulling up his net with a grunt, Orvin exclaimed, “I think I have a large one!” The nets wriggled as Orvin pulled them over the side. Even on a diet of fish and mushrooms, and some small game that Orvin managed to catch to the surprise of them all, including himself, the swordsman was beginning to groan at every fish he had to eat now. It was good eating, but rarely did he have to subsist on such meager variation of food.

The small man lifted up a large fish with one hand among a few smaller ones gaping at his feet. “Look, Princess!” he said excitedly, and then suddenly the fish lurched and the small man cried out as it was flung from his hands and fell onto the deck.

“Mm,” she noised. “That is very good, Orvin.”

“You did not open your eyes, Princess.”

“But I know it for the sounds it makes.”

“I am going to cook it up now.”

The swordsman groaned inwardly, but even so, his hunger pangs were beginning to make him want to eat—and so fire-cooked fish it would be. “On the bow,” said Falinor, not wanting to smell dried fish guts for the rest of the day.

“Of course.” Then Orvin glanced over his shoulder toward Harrkania. “My ladys—you should not lay in the sun in that manner for extended periods. Your skin.”

She whined a little. “Just a little longer?”

“All right,” said Orvin, sounding very much like the girl’s parents might. “I will remind you in a little while.”

As the small man stalked down the deck with his wriggling catch, the swordsman glanced at the light-skinned giantess lying still, her relaxation disturbed. She peeked at him with one eye open.

“Orvin…” ventured Falinor. “He is very…”

“Motherly?”

Raising an eyebrow, he found himself shrugging with mild wryness. “Is he your slave?”

“What?” asked Harrkania. “No! My father thought he was a spy to watch me.”

Cocking his head in surprised, he said, “A spy?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Why did your father put a spy on you?”

“To make sure I didn’t get into any trouble, of course.”

He nodded sardonically. “And a lot of good that did.”

“Hey!” she complained. “King Alun’Dar has always been oblivious to the smaller details around him. Including his daughters. He did not know that Orvin has always been my friend since the first time we met.”

“Alun’Dar is your father?”

She nodded, pulling up her knees to her chest over the deck. How the hard wood did not bother her hip, Falinor did not know. A giantess she was, but Harrkania, like the other giants, simply appeared to be big people—overly big in some cases, however, with less ungainliness. Where a man or woman grew to be too large than was normal, their bodies in a way revealed, however subtle, that they were meant to be smaller, both in the way that they looked—and moved. Much like dwarves of man and how their proportions were not proper to simply call them “small people.” But the giants, not so.

With long legs, ample hips and narrow shoulders, Harrkania appeared to be nothing more than slightly buxom young women, though far larger.

She was beautiful.

“And Orvin?” asked Falinor. “How did you come to meet him?”

The giantess smiled mischievously. “My father, the king”—she exaggerated herself—“thought it would be prudent that the princesses of Dar should receive tutelage from outside of the country.”

“Truly?”

“Mm,” she offered with a nod, then she sat up, her legs still bent beneath her. “It is rare, but not unheard of. We are not barbarians completely closed off to the world, Falinor.”

“I know,” he said with a nod. “Although, I must say that I may not have known before coming here.”

“Hmph.”

“Little is known about the Giant Isles. Stories abound.”

“Stories of monsters and hulking man-eating savages?” He shrugged apologetically, but she only giggled. Then she glanced over her shoulder at Orvin. “He always let me study the things that I wanted to learn, instead of forcing me—like my sister’s tutors. And he never reported half of what I did to my father.”

“And did that do you well—the study, I mean?”

She stood and put her hand out on the railing. “What do you think?”

“I think you are a troublemaker, Princess,” offered the swordsman with a smirk on his face.

She smiled and put her hands on her hips. “And if it was not for me, you would be dead, would you not?”

“Aye,” he said with a nod. And that reminded him of something. In their haste to get away from Furan Da, the keep where the sorceress Orchan’Da ruled, and then their encounter with the giants on the docks, Falinor had not had the time to ask. So now he did. “Why do you need me, though?”

With a frown, she looked into his eyes. “Did I not tell you?”

He shook his head.

“Oh… Well—it’s the temple.”

“Where your sword awaits? Can giants not go into it?”

She nodded.

“Is there a magic spell that—“

Harrkania shook her head. “It is not that. We can’t fit inside the entrance.”

“Is it truly so simple? Why not have Orvin fetch you your sword?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head again. “Arrac Dur is not safe.”

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“Why not?”

“It is a place of dark magic. Some call it the Temple of Demons. And my father has his minions guarding it.”

Ah, he thought. So that is why she needs a man like me.

“Do not worry,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps it is not as bad as all that.”

“Why ever not?” he asked, realizing his tone carried some level of unamused skepticism. “A temple with a foreboding name—one where, your fathers minions, as you have just said, await us?”

“Because…” she stalked over to him and put her palms up playfully. “They also call it the Temple of the First Giants. The ‘Temple of Demons’ is just one of the more ominous names.”

“The first giants…” he muttered curiously. There must have been a story behind that.

“Mm-hm. They say that the giants were once men and after a pact with the demons, they were given earthly powers. After they left the temple, they grew too large to ever go back in.”

“Demons, you say?”

“Some giants believe that—others say it was the goddess Kairu. In exchange for granting us earthly dominion, we were to be the protectors of her temple.”

“A temple now called by the name of demons.”

“The year of Zak’tr Achgakgt the Lizard Worshipers a thousand years ago, changed that.”

Falinor did not even try to repeat the strange name she had just uttered. It did not seem like something of the Giant Isles. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Ask Orvin. He told me about it.”

“He is a historian?”

She nodded. “He is much more than that.”

With a nod, Falinor thought he might ask her about her studies some other time. Right now he wanted to know other things. “Back to the temple. How did you father put your sword within?”

Harrkania’s eyes flicked down to the deck, either sadly or thoughtfully, he did not know. She brought her gaze back up to his. Or rather, up to his, but she still peered down at him from her giant’s height, which, due to their differences, brought far too much of his attention to her breasts, which were of a level with his eyes.

Stop looking—dammit.

“My father has many… minions.”

“And slaves,” said Falinor.

She nodded solemnly.

There was a quiet moment between them as Falinor kept the sleep on its course, pulling the wheel slightly to keep them in the middle of the river.

After a short time of regarding the sails and the telltale ribbons indicating the wind, Harrkania sighed. “Now you know about me, Falinor.”

“Indeed?”

She put her hands behind her back and kicked a mark on the deck. “Tell me about you!”

“Wait,” he said. “Why the sword?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did your father put the sword inside the temple?”

“Oh,” she said. “Well… my mother.”

He waited.

“The sword is imbued with magical energy—and it has always been passed down through her bloodline.”

“And?”

“And… I am the last,” she said spreading her arms, “of my mother’s children. The other princesses… Channa’Dar, Delfun’Da—that’s… Orchan’Da’s mother—and Vetta’Koros. They have different mothers.”

Now he understood the family relation between Harrkania’Dar and Orchan’Da. So they were not blood relatives, only cousins by marriage—her mother one of king Alun’Dar’s… wives? Concubines? He did not ask.

“The sword. Why has he kept your mother’s sword from you? It is your birthright.” The swordsman could not help caressing the hilt of his own sword, safely in its scabbard on his belt.

“It is!” she said, her intensity sudden and surprising. She then made a fist and glanced off across the water. “The sword is mine—by birthright.” The way she said the words was as if Falinor had just proposed an excellent idea to her that she had not considered until just now. She turned to him suddenly. “My mother swore the sword to me—in the presence of my father! He acknowledged it.”

“Did he?”

“Yes,” she said. “And then my mother died.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” she said. “That was when I was eight years old.”

Falinor nodded. The giantess—the princess—wanted her blade. Harrkania did not seem like a warrior, so was it that she wanted it for sentimental reasons? A last gift of her dead mother?

“He has kept the sword from me. What is worse, Falinor is that he intends to give it to the daughter who fashions the greatest alliance of houses for him.”

“Ah,” he said. “And you did not want to be married away?”

“To that hog Durin’Xor?” She shook her head, a terrified and pained look crossing her face—one only a teenager could manage. “Gods and demons, no! Disgusting. Have you seen him, Falinor?”

Of course he had not.

“The belly on that beast is massive,” she said, implying with a grandiose measurement of her arms. “He would not be able to sit these decks. And the harem of bed slaves he keeps. He lives in great excess while his people go hungry. I do not want to be his queen.”

He almost laughed. “Is this Durin’Xor truly so wretched a creature?”

She nodded vehemently, her eyes wide and her mouth no longer a frown or evincing anything less than a teenager enjoying her story.

“Then I see why you have chosen your birth right over your father the king’s newly minted proclamation of the sword’s destiny.”

She nodded. “Mm.”

“We will get your sword, Princess. I promise you.”

With her hands behind her back again, she scratched at her covered calf with the front of her other boot and smiled. “Thank you, Falinor.”

She continued looking at him, an enthusiasm to her features that made him wonder what she was so excited about? The swordsman regarded the giantess for a time, and he wanted to speak, but he waited, for her to say what it was.

Her behavior was slightly disconcerting. Was she…

Finally she sniffed with feigned disappointment and stalked over to him behind the wheel and—to his completely surprise—grabbed him and lifted him off the deck. “Falinor!” she cried. “What are you waiting for?”

“Put me down! Princess—what are you doing?!”

“Tell me about youuu!”

“Okay!” he cried. “Okay! Put me down.”

His sandals touched upon the deck as blood rushed to his face, both out of sudden shock and surprise, but also embarrassment. Harrkania laughed in barely contained delight.

Orvin stalked up the deck with bowls of freshly cooked fish—thank the gods for the distraction. He smiled. “I see you have experienced the fondness of giants, Falinor.”

“Is that what that is?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“The giants of Malik’Dar,” explained Orvin, “are tight-knit communal peoples. They enjoy dancing and music—hunting, war, and above all, close companionship with those they care for.”

“Oh, do not say it like we are a herd of creatures to be studied, Orvin!” she whined. “I am trying to make this swordsman tell me something about him so he isn’t such an enigma!” She put her hands on her hips. “But his lips are as sealed as the oysters in this river!”

Orvin gave her the largest portion by far, leaving a few morsels for himself and Falinor. He took the food gratefully, even though he did not want to see another fish for years to come. “Perhaps,” Orvin said between bites of the crispy fish, “the man has his own reasons for remaining silent. You cannot force a person to reveal things about themselves, Princess. We foreigners are not as open as the giants of your isles.”

“Hmph,” she noised, then crossed her arms petulantly.

Well, it is not that, Falinor thought. He simply had not had a chance. He wanted to know about Harrkania—about why she needed him and why she was willing to go to all that trouble to get her sword back.

“I do not see why,” she complained, looking at him with knowing eyes that implied the situation in which she had caught him in—and had saved him from.

Gods and Demons! he cursed inwardly—sounding like a giant, as invoking demons was not a particular curse of the nations of men.

“What?” he asked.

But she just looked at him for a moment, then glanced at her fish.

“I am a mercenary,” he said. “My past is a simple one. My father was a noble of middling rank from the nation of Arin. I went on a quest to retrieve his sword and body after he was killed during a small war under suspicious circumstances. On my quest, I had to fight both men and monsters to him and the sword. When I returned home, I found that our family lands had been taken from us, my mother and two sisters gone.”

“Where are they?” Harrkania asked quickly.

“Princess,” Orvin rebuked. “Do not prod. Let the man tell what he will and nothing more.”

She shrugged, sinking into her shoulders a little. “Sorry.”

“It is fine,” Falinor said. “And to answer your question—to this day, I still do not know. The only thing I have is the knowledge of a receipt of sale.”

“Sale?” Harrkania asked her eyes wide as she listened to him with rapt attention. He did not know why she was so interested in his past or where he came from. Perhaps it simply was her curiosity. He did not think Harrkania had ever been away from the Giant Isles before. Each foreigner from across the Strait of the Leviathan’s Eyes was an opportunity to hear more stories that were not in her books.

“Yes,” continued Falinor. “A receipt of bondage. They were sold to slavers.”

“Oh—Falinor! I am so sorry,” she said. “Please, forget I asked anything—“

“It is all right, Princess. I am well recovered of the hurt,” he said. Though those hurts were of a kind that never left a man—not him in any case. “I pursued them across the seas to the nation of Oruxul. I travelled the slave markets, I hunted pirates and I threatened rich men. But I never found them… I lost their trail. I could only suspect that Kordanicor was involved.”

“Who?” asked Orvin’s, his countenance one of curiosity as they listened.

“The lord of the minor nation where we lived,” Falinor offered.

Harrkania nodded. “Oh.”

“He had always been a jealous man. My father spoke of his designs—of plots he had probably been involved in where others met their untimely misfortunes. He never had proof—and I never found any. But I knew…”

“How did you know?”

“I knew,” he persisted. He did not tell them, but Kordanicor had boasted to Falinor when he came back, had laughed, and had even sent a man to kill him—and a bloody, brutal duel it had been, before Falinor had triumphed against that particular trial.

“So…” Harrkania asked conspiratorially. “What did you do next?”

Falinor’s eyes touched the deck of the sloop as he steered with one hand and held his bowl of fish with the other. Then he breathed in deeply. “I killed him.”

Their eyes widened, both as they glanced at one another. “Truly?” they both asked in unison—then they looked at each other again, surprised that they had both asked at the same time.

“I did,” Falinor said. “And I would do it again.”

What Falinor did not say, was that when he assaulted the lord’s manor, two of his sons had been there, and like any loyal son, defended their house against a sudden attacker. But in his rage, Falinor had slew them both—had almost slew his wife and daughters, but his hand was stayed when Kordanicor appeared, his deep sorrow and anger and rage at the deaths of his two only sons, revealed.

Falinor had exulted to see Kordanicor so damaged. Then he had killed him.

“And then what happened?” Harrkania asked.

“I fled,” Falinor said, as he passed over those finer details he did not like to speak of. Had he been able to do it again, he would probably have killed Kordanicor again—but different—and in such a manner as to leave his two innocent sons alive.

“And that is why you became a mercenary?” asked Harrkania.

“Yes.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry for your troubles, Falinor. I could not have imagined your life has been so trying. It makes my life seem easy by comparison.”

He smiled, though the smile was false. “Do not concern yourself overly with the sorrows of my past, Harrkania. Those events happened some time ago and I am another man—the man you see today.”

“All right.”

Something fell from the sky in front of Falinor. It looked like a large grey snowflake. He watched it—they all watched it—as it glided down onto the ship’s wheel.

He blinked away something in his eyes. “What is this?” he asked.

“Ash,” said Harrkania. “That is ash from the God’s Eye.”

“Wait,” said Falinor, confused. “The God’s Eye is a volcano?”

The giantess blinked. “Did I not tell you?”

Orvin raised an eyebrow as he looked askance to the princess

“You may have forgotten that part.”

“Oh—I’m sorry, Falinor.”

“To be sure.”

The swordsman wondered if he had gotten more than he bargained for by getting rescued by the princess. Perhaps the bedchambers of Orchan’Da the giant sorceress was preferable to this quest.

“We are almost there,” Harrkania said, and glanced up into the sky. She blinkled quickly—as the ash in her eyes irritated them, as it did to Falinor and Orvin.,

It was not long before the ash fall became considerably thicker.

“It is falling fast,” said Falinor.

The giantess made a fist. “Arrac Dur awaits us!”