Chapter 17: War Party

The mornings now were not very chill, but for Gretta, Ralan still came outside to do some wood chopping for a small fire. Most of their wood stores had been burnt up through the winter, but coming out in the mornings to split three or four logs was no trouble at all, and in fact was Ralan’s favorite morning activity before having breakfast.

Especially when hot porridge awaited him inside the house. And indeed, the fireplace was already crackling, smoke issuing from the chimney silently as birds called through the dark forest in delight of the new day.

Rolan positioned the lock atop the stump he liked to use as a base, then he picked up his maul and swung it around. The edge connected with the log perfectly and it split cleanly down the center, the wood clunking across the dry ground.

The trees here in the forest of Dregalf were thick and strong—hard to split. But there were softer trees, evergreen pines of various species. These were the trees he felled and sawed into lengthwise pieces. And he always did this work in the summer, most of it in the matter of a month or so. Two or three trees was far more than needed for a winter’s supply. When early fall set in, the logs would be dried and ready to split.

He repositioned the split pieces onto the stump. Two halves of a log were still a mite thick for the fireplace and the oven—and indeed, these logs he split now were the leftovers from last summer.

Bringing the maul down, he split one half into two more pieces, and they fell away easily and satisfyingly. He then brought the maul down again, doing the same to the other half.

Sometimes Ralan got carried away, and split too many logs after losing track of time. When the front door of the house opened to reveal Gretta—his beautiful red-haired wife, he knew that he had stayed out for too long.

“Ralan,” she called. “Come inside. Your porridge will be cold if you do not.”

He nodded. “Let my bring some of this wood in, love.”

She smiled, and then her mouth dropped into a sudden frown, her head tilted slightly. “Do you ‘ear that?”

Ralan glanced about. “What?”

“Like thunder,” said she, pulling her quilts tighter. “I sher ‘ope it der’int rain.”

But that thunder in the distance—it was not coming from Mount Hagrodar, where it usually did, but rather the opposite direction. Ralan glanced that way as it approached.

“Giants?” said Gretta, her eyes somewhat wide. “It is many, yes?”

For the most part, the giants left them alone. Humans were often allowed to live in peace with the giants—and had done so for hundreds of years. Some giant houses were easier than others—Da was not one of them.

But Ralan and Gretta… they stayed out of the way.

“Many,” he said, confirming his wife’s question with a nod.

As a newly married couple, Gretta and Ralan did not yet have children, but Oro, their dog, barked furiously and ran from the yard, his tail high and his ears flopping.

“Oro!” called Ralan. “Oro—come! Come!”

But the stupid mutt did not listen, and his short brown coat flashed by, his growls receding as he disappeared among the ferns. Ralan glanced back at Gretta. “I will fetch ‘im.”

“Husband,” said she, raising a hand, the look of concern on her face evident. “Mayhaps leave him to—“

The thunder was so near now, and Oro’s barking sounded in the distance as he pursued that thunder. And then it suddenly stopped—the thunder of the giant’s running continuing. Gretta looked into the trees searchingly, to no avail.

But Ralan, who was taller than his wife, could see farther—that, and he was standing on a more elevated piece of ground. Even so, the thick ferns obscured his ability to see, so he stepped onto the stump he liked to use as a base for his wood chopping.

It was then that he saw the shadowed forms, their arms swinging and their bows on their backs—the hilts of their swords on their hips. Not a hunting party. But he did not say this, for worry that he would put Gretty to trembling. The giants appeared as shadows only in that darkness caused by the tall trees of the forest.

It was a war party, and up farther in the north, dogs—their own dogs barked, but they were not the sounds of Oro, who had been much closer to this party of giants crossing the hilled terrain within the dark forest.

As they ran, the last of the giants making their way across that stretch of the couple’s forest, Oro’s barking still remained quiet—completely gone.

“Oro?!” Ralan called, his heart beating a little faster.

Please bark, boy.

The dog did not come back.

The man turned and glanced at his wife, who put her hand to her mouth as Ralan breathed in deeply, concern filling his mind, and sorrow for poor Oro.

When the ferns brushed loudly, Ralan whirled, his hand tightening on the haft of his maul. “Gretta!—get inside.”

“But Ralan—“

“Do as I say, wife!”

Suddenly Oro shot through the ferns, his tail between his legs as he went to Ralan, his nose held low and his eyes downcast. He whined pitifully. Gretta gasped. “Oro?”

“Oro!” called Ralan. “Come, boy! Come.”

The dog came and he put his hand on Oro’s head. Ralan glanced back and smiled at his wife, who breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Do you still want to come in and have your porridge, my love?”

“Mm,” he noised with a nod. “And I think Oro will share in my breakfast this morn as well, wife.”

She smiled.

The whistle that passed near Ralan sent his heart into his mouth and when the arrow struck, it vibrated loudly beside Gretta, who shrieked and bent low. Oro barked, and Ralan wasted no time.

“Inside!”

He motioned violently to his wife to get in.

She screamed and went inside, turning to wait for Ralan and Oro, who crashed through the entrance.

Gretta slammed the door and put the lock down, her heart running like a lathered horse. “Good gods!” she cried.

They breathed for a time, and finally Oro licked Ralan’s hand.

The giants did not come into the yard.

Nodding, Ralan said, “It is all right, wife.” He nodded again, this time to himself more than anything as he put a hand over Gretta’s knee.

Oro whined stupidly.

“Why’s they do that?”

Ralan stood, helped his wife to her feet. “I warnin’ not ta in’erferr,” he said.

“You cert’n?”

“Aye,” said he with a nod of his head. “Aye.”