Chapter 12: Life Debt

She ran, and the swordsman ran to keep up.

With his throat burning and his muscles cramping—the drugs still in his body—the swordsman was forced to slow as he cleared the trees and reached the bottom of a grassy hill.

He bent, breathing heavily as he rested his palms upon his knees. “Gods!” he cried, and gasped. Even after the battle he had not been so winded, or on the march through the fortress.

“Why are you stopping?” called Harrkania’Dar from atop the hill as she glanced back at him, her arms spread in question.

Raising a hand, he signaled to her that he would be there shortly, and simply breathed for a time. When Falinor finished catching his breath, he stalked up the hill. “You—you have to slow down. I can’t—keep up with your giant’s legs.”

“Hmph,” Harkania’Dar scoffed. “Very well, Little Legs.”

He looked at her then, at the sassy smirk across her face. Her name-calling surprised him. It was not an insult, at least not in the manner he might of expected from a contemptuous giant that saw only slaves and pieces of meat to be ravaged when looking at humans.

But did they see humans that way, or was that merely his recent experiences coloring his perspective? He shook his head, his vision still blurring at times. He blinked and glanced about.

Then he sniffed at the air.

The giantess giggled.

“What?” asked the swordsman.

“You are like a dog.”

“I am drugged!”

She nodded. “We have to get to safety,” said the giantess. “Once my cousin awakens, she will be furious.”

“Will you be in trouble?”

“In trouble?” she asked incredulously. “What I did is an act of war.”

“But I thought you said she was your cousin?”

“She is,” said the giantess, “but Orchan’Da is of the house of Da!”

“And you are…?”

“The house of Dar?” she said, as if he should have known. “Harrkania’Dar?”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “So… Harkania’Dar—“

“You do not need to use my house name unless you wish to emphasize my elegance. What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Falinor,” said the swordsman. “I am called Falinor Serdrin.”

“Very well, Falinor Serdrin,” said Harrkania. “Perhaps we should—“

Falinor laughed.

“What is funny?”

“Just Falinor,” said the swordsman. “Serdrin is my father’s name.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding as if she thought she should have known. A subtle hue then flooded into her cheeks. “On another matter,” she said, clearing her throat, “perhaps we should get to our business?”

“Business?” he asked.

“Mm,” she said with a nod. “Surely you are wondering why I rescued you from that viper pit my evil cousin keeps?”

“Are all giants not similar?”

Shit—he should not have asked such a thing.

She scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Forgive me, Harrkania,” he said. “My experiences with giants have been…” he paused, thinking about it.

“They have been an ordeal at every turn, yes?”

He nodded.

“And I am sorry for that,” she said. “We are not all war mongers—and we do not all hate the humans. Or wish to kill them in our beds,” she added quietly.

The humans, he thought. The words suggested a clear separation of giants from humans, though. Her last words made him feel self-conscious, so he changed the subject.

“Is that why you saved me?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need you for something.”

Feeling slightly exposed on the hilltop, Falinor glanced back toward the fort. He had forgotten what Harrkania had called it—or had she even used its name? He could not remember. The drugs were still affecting his body.

“I thank you for saving my life, Harrkania, but there is nothing I can help you with.”

He strode past her and started making his way down the hill. He needed to find the coast. He turned, believing it to be to his relative west.

“You owe me your life, human.”

“My name is Falinor.”

“And you owe me your life,” said she again in tones more stern than before.

He regarded her. “I do not have my sword—hells, I don’t even have breaches. What do you want from me?”

She swallowed visibly. “I wish you to acquire an item for me.”

“I am no merchant.” No, he thought, the coast was the other direction… “Which way is the coast?”

“No,” said Harrkania with a shake of her head. “It is not like that. It is an item my father is holding. He does not wish me to have it.”

Was she speaking of Princess Kindrin?

He looked at her then. “What is this ‘item’ you speak of? Perhaps your father is right in keeping it from you.” A subtle hurt flickered across her features and Falinor actually felt sorry he had said what he said. “What is it?”

“It is a sword,” she said, her tone sheepish as she glanced into the grass.

“How am I to get this sword for you?”

“Listen,” said, Harrkania, “we can speak of this more, but we need to meet Orvan. He has your sword.”

He nearly flinched from the surprise of her statement. “What?!”

That damn sword was a nearly priceless heirloom passed to him by his father before he died—the one thing of his house that he still possessed. He wanted it back!

“I was at the battle,” she said. “Orvan and I. He has your sword and your things.”

“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing. He needed his sword if he was to get out of the Giant Isles alive—that, and he wanted it back for personal reasons.

Harrkania’Dar nodded and led him down the hill and into a meadow, her strides long and difficult to keep pace with. Every so often Falinor had to sprint for a moment just to keep up with her.

A subtle breeze rustled the leaves in the trees as crickets chirped and glow bugs lit the night. Now that the clouds had passed, the night-blue sky was flecked with bright stars as the crescent moon peeked out now and then as wisps of clouds brushed over them, followed by intermittent rumbles of thunder.

The giantess glanced up into the sky then, a look of apprehension on her face, but Falinor knew not the superstitions of giants, and neither did he ask about them.

As they traveled up and over the hills, the grey clouds of the night continued to part and to close up again. The air was cool and a light breeze swept in from the west—surely the same westerly direction he believed the coast to be in, cooled by the sea? Or was it cooled by the high mountains?

What was he thinking—the Giant Isles had coast all around them. The coast he was considering was the one from which king Kindrin’s ships had sailed.

Where the army was defeated.

Could he regroup with them—get off the Isles?

He tilted his chin up and smelled the air. There was a natural floral aroma, he noted as he wondered if the army had been destroyed or if the king had managed to make landing on another shore to save the men.

Perhaps he could hurry and still catch them.

His thoughts raced like a horse in full gallop with demons at its tail.

It did not matter. Falinor was a mercenary. He did not belong to the army—he had sworn no fealty to the king, no quest promised. He was there in payment for his services and nothing more.

But to escape. Perhaps he could steal a boat from the giants.

Now that the army was gone, he too was out of work.

Gods, his thoughts were a mess.

But… should he find a way to return with princess Kindrin, he could reap untold riches. The moneys levied to raise armies and hire mercenaries was no small feat—even a tenth of the gold involved would make Falinor a kingly ransom.

As the swordsman remained deep in thought, going over everything that had happened, and what might happen to come, there was very little said between himself and the giantess who had rescued him.

“So…” ventured Harrkania after a long time as they walked through the grass.

Falinor looked at her questioningly.

“What is the world like outside of Malik’Dar?”

“I thought the giants called the Giant Isles Malik’Xor?”

“That was the old name,” Harrkania said. “The name ‘Malik’ is derived from the first giant king of the isles and the house name of the current ruler is added on. That’s House Dar.”

“Wait,” Falinor said, raising a hand. “You are of House Dar, yes?”

“I am Harrkania’Dar—I am of House Dar,” she said with a nod.

“Are you involved with the kidnapping of Princess Kindrin?”

She looked at him, her eyes widening slightly. Perhaps he should not have been so forward, or accusatory, but the words slipped out, unguarded.

“I was not,” said she, gesturing to herself. “I have never been away from Malik’Dar.”

He nodded.

“Do you know where the princess is being held?”

She was quiet then.

“Tell me,” he pressed.

“Mm-mm,” she noised, shaking her head firmly.

The swordsman sniffed bemusedly. “How old are you?”

“Why does that matter?”

“I am curious.”

“Are all humans so curious, Falinor?”

There was a pause between them then. “Perhaps.”

“I am sixteen if you must know.”

“Good gods!” he cried.

“What?! What’s wrong?” she glanced about as she grasped the hilt of her maul. “Are we pursued?”

“No,” said Falinor. “Be clam, giantess. It is just… You are but a child.”

“Hmph!” she scoffed hard enough that the rise of her chest was visible to him. “Women are married often at the age of thirteen in Malik’Dar—or even begin to bear children! I am no child.”

He shrugged, having to confess the same of much of the lands from which he was familiar with. Still, her young age and clear lack of experience was not one that built up his confidence.

“And you?” asked Harrkania’Dar.

“Me?”

“How old are you, Falinor?”

“I am twenty-nine,” he offered. “…if you must know.”

“Do not give me your lip, human--you asked first!”

“Very well,” he said, raising his hands in defeat. Then after a time he said, “Are we there yet?”

“It is just past the river up ahead.”

They trudged over the cold wet grass—or at least, it felt that way to the swordsman, considering his lack of footwear. When they came to the river, the giantess did not hesitate, and waded through the waters towards the dense forest beyond, where her friend presumably awaited.

Falinor could not help but feel a sense of wariness, even with his giantess companion who had saved his life—who, he knew by her easy demeanor, free speech and lack of guile, would not betray him for some unseen reason—the way her cousin had lured him to her bedchambers where she had drugged him and intended to make him a human sacrifice while…

While they were fucking like vampires!

The swordsman wanted to forget all that. Under no other circumstances would he have been so foolish—and the thought of bedding his captors had never even crossed his mind, not until he had consumed that mixture of oozing sugars and scented smoke.

The effects of those drugs still lingered and the swordsman found himself looking at the young giantess in ways he normally would have no interest—especially within the current climate of his precarious position.

He cursed softly under his breath and Harrkania looked at him curiously. Had she been a little older, she probably would have realized what he was looking at—gods forbid she did not already know and simply kept it to herself as she continued glancing off in the distance over the hills and beyond the forest.

Harrkania could easily crush his skull like an overripe melon.

*

The drugs her cousin had given him—the drugs she gave all her sacrifices, clearly still enveloped his senses—because it was not lost on the young giantess that the human was looking at her in a way that made her want to look away from him.

She swore to all the gods and demons that once the drugs were gone from him, if he continued to leer at her that way, she would crush his retched skull like a loaf of crunchy bread!

*

They slowed once within the trees, Harrkania bending forward and her maul grasped tightly within her hand. Falinor glanced at her, looked ahead, wondering if they were about to be ambushed.

Should that happen, he could never outrun giants—their legs were simply too long, their strides too far and swift for a human to outrun.

There was movement ahead and Falinor spotted a cloaked figure as Harrkania squinted in the dark.

“There!” he said, pointing.

“Where?”

“There!” he shouted in alarm. “A hooded man cloaked in the trees!”

“Orvan?”

The man came out farther. “I am here, my lady.”

“It is you!”

“We agreed to meet here, my lady.”

“I know,” she said, her tone evincing somewhat of a sheepishness. “It is Falinor making me jumpy.”

He looked at her, surprised that she was blaming him. Was she blind?

“This is your warrior?” said Orvin.

Falinor spread his arms and smiled sardonically. “In all my divine glory.”

Orvin glanced between Falinor and Harrkania skeptically and uncertainly as he snatched his scabbarded sword from the little man’s hands. He looked at it, pulled it partially from the sheath with a crisp metallic hiss. She was fine.

Thank the gods!

He almost kissed the cross guard.

“Your breeches, sir,” offered Orvin.

Falinor wasted no time. He took his folded breeches and put them on as Harrkania turned, away—probably assuming he was naked. Again. Thinking back to that moment, where she had come into the bedchamber while Orchan’Da had been crushing him, his clothes completely gone from him.

He shook his head and latched his sword buckle over the tunic where the sash kept his waist synched and narrowed. Then he glanced up to the giantess and her little human companion. She was down on one knee, nodding her head and muttering with the man in quiet tones.

“What are you saying?” asked Falinor.

“Hmm?” Harrkania noised, and they both turned to address him.

“Are you sure?” Orvin asked.

She nodded.

Falinor spread his arms, feeling a sense of arrogance now that he had his sword—and a sense of impatience. “What?”

“You owe the princess, sir,” Said Orvin.

“No,” Falinor said. “I owe her nothing.” He turned and began to stride in the direction of the coast. He would try to remain unseen, but if he had to, he could fight, and a deadly fighter he was.

“I told you,” Orvin hissed quietly to Harrkania. Then louder he called, “You choose the path of dishonor, then?”

The swordsman gritted his teeth, stalked up quickly to the little man and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I don’t know why the princess matters to you of all people, suckling! Neither do I care. I was paid to be a part of king Kindrin’s army. I owe nothing to his daughter.”

As much as his greed pulled at him to have a care—to potentially save the unfortunate princess—right now there was little a warrior like him could do—and in the Giant Isles no less.

Falinor needed to find a place of safety. If he was fast, he could catch the army before they sailed away on their ships. It was very likely that if the army took fewer losses than he had suspected, the king could be sailing up and down the coast, just looking for a place to land anew.

As he strode back toward the river, there was a silence behind him. He felt like a coward for leaving them, but sometimes a small act of cowardliness kept one alive, and Falinor wished to live another day.

“Wrong princess,” said Orvin, his tone stronger and more assured than it had been before.

The swordsman frowned.

What?

Turning around, once again, he tilted his head in a question. Orvin glanced at Harrkania—the giantess of the House of Dar. “I speak of Princess Harrkarnia’Dar, sir.”

She glanced away toward the river.

He blinked in place of outright flinching. “You are a princess?”

She looked at him then and nodded solemnly. “One of them.”

“You owe her for saving your life,” said Orvin, and had he been a much larger man capable of wielding a sword, there might have been a threat in his tone.

With a narrowing of his eyes, Falinor stalked back to them, realizing that, yes, he had no allegiance to Princess Kindrin, no honor to preserve by dying in pursuit of her rescue. But Princess Harrkania’Dar—damnation—he had almost forgotten about her.

She had saved his life at the moment when he should have been killed, and he had not even thanked her. Was it she, a giantess, who was a barbarian among them, or was Falinor the barbarian?

He had to do this thing.

The swordsman regarded her. “I forgot to thank you, Princess—for delivering me from your cousin.” He nodded. “Thank you.” Then he took the most princely bow he could manage, which was not bad, and which lacked all sardonic impudence, as his action was sincere—perhaps the most sincere action he had taken since signing the contract putting him into the company of king Kindrin’s army. “I also wish to apologize for my barbaric behavior towards you. And you see—I am not at my best right now. The drugs…”

He left the rest hanging and unsaid.

Orvin and Harrkania shared a solemn glance between themselves, and then the giantess made a noise of acknowledgement—or perhaps she cleared her throat, he knew not which. “I accept your apology, Falinor.” She glanced toward Orvin quickly and he jerked his head toward the swordsman in a very subtle gesture that was not lost on Falinor. “And!” continued she, quickly, “I thank you for conveying your gratitude.”

Orvin nodded, then very quietly he murmured, “Excellent.”

“Now,” said Falinor. “I will honor the debt I owe you, Princess. What is it that you wish of me?”

Her countenance brightened as she looked at him, their eyes of a near level now that she was down on one knee. She stood, her height head-and-shoulders above Falinor. “I need you to help me get my sword.”

“Your sword?” Falinor thought that sounded simple enough. Sneak into a palace, find the blade and lift it off a wall. It would be easy—his debt repaid. Perhaps he could lift some loot while he was at it. “Very well. Tell me where it is.”

There was a heavy silence, full of apprehension.

“What?”

“The sword…” said Orvin with hesitation. “It is…”

“It is in the Temple of Arann Dur,” said Harrkania quickly. There was another heavy silence. “In the God’s Eye.”

What was the God’s Eye?

“Where?” asked Falinor.