Chapter 8: The Giants Come

Perhaps Falinor’s body understood something about his situation, as on a normal day, he might have slept until the midday sun had appeared, but now his eyes were open, and it was clear from the high window that the sun had barely risen.

He was fully awake.

Some of the other prisoners stirred as well, including the little sorcerer.

He seemed to notice Falinor and came to him. “Ah, you are awake my friend.” He smiled and reached down with a hand.

As he got to his feet with Chiarro’s assistance, Falinor felt the soreness of his healed wounds and groaned.

“Do not worry,” Chiarro said. “The soreness will lessen in time.”

The swordsman nodded and glanced about.

“The piss bucket is over there,” Chiarro said with a nervous smile. Falinor looked at him and then he shrugged apologetically.

After relieving himself, Falinor strode to the center of the room. Some of the other prisoners stirred, while others still slept. One man sat on his haunches with his arms hanging over his knees, the look in his eyes one of utter defeat.

“We need to find a way out,” said Chiarro.

The words hung like old dust in the air.

“What is the matter?” said another fellow.

“Godsdammit, you fool!” It was the defeated-looking man on the floor. “We will never see the light of day again.”

“They’re going to eat us,” muttered another.

Falinor almost laughed, but he contained himself. “You have been listening to too many stories,” he offered.

“Yeah?” the man with the pointed chin beard said. “And how would you know?”

They did not need to fight among themselves in here, so Falinor said nothing. And neither was he these men’s leader. He was not going to keep them in higher spirits by dolling out hope and encouragement.

“We need to find a way out,” said Chiarro the first time.

“You are wasting your time,” said the glum man.

“Mmm,” the sorcerer hummed skeptically as he put a thoughtful hand to his chin. “And who are you?”

“Captain Doldriss of the Third Column.”

“Ah, so we have a mercenary swordsman, a sorcerer, and a captain in our midst. Wonderful. Well, Captain Doldriss,” Chiarro went on. “We can sit here and do nothing, or we can do anything and everything within our power to escape. Do you not know that I am a Mage Adept from the School of Healing in Dorynth? We have quite the pool of skill here with us today.”

“Little good your powers will do us here,” said the captain, glancing up at the sorcerer. “But I have a wound on my left side. Can you look at it?”

“Of course,” Chiarro said, his tone one of full service despite the fact that a mage even such as himself outranked Captain Doldriss in king Kindrin’s army.

The captain, a tall and broad shouldered man with short-cropped brown hair and green eyes, nodded, lifted his red tunic and revealed the purple bruise.

“Oh my,” Chiarro said, pulling back his hand as if an infectious lesion were exposed.

“Is it as bad as all that?” asked Doldriss. “It is very painful.”

“No, no,” Chiarro said, and bent down to examine the captain. “Let me see…”

Falinor turned from them to busy himself with inspecting their prison. They all wore the chains from earlier, so they either all escaped together, or they had to find a way out of their restraints.

Falinor was of a mind to find a way out of his restraints. The chances of twenty or thirty prisoners all escaping together and in their chains, was very unlikely at best.

Pushing about with his boots in the straw, he searched for any sign of something that might be used to pick the lock. Anything long and narrow should probably work—a rat’s rib, should there be rat bones in here, or even a tough twig.

Unfortunately, straw would not work.

Time passed, and no rat bones or small twigs were found, even after Falinor had ventured the idea to the group, who all searched about in the hay while Chiarro kept watch through the iron peephole in the door.

He started glancing about and noticed the rafters above were quite thick, and it appeared that the arched roof was indeed a way out. But with their chains on, there was no way they could climb up and out.

Even without chains, Falinor doubted they could get up that high. The rafters were at least five paces from the floor.

Something slammed up ahead.

“Someone is coming!” Said Chiarro in a hiss, his eyes wide as he trudged over the straw.

The prisoners bristled collectively, their chains rattling as they all settled about in the straw. But they could not all sit and pretend they did nothing at all, so Falinor remained standing.

A giant came to the door and glanced in at them through the iron looking hole. Then he inserted large keys into the door and opened it.

Two other giants strode into the prisoner chamber with their swords on their belts as two more came in with large wooden platters cluttered with bowls of steaming porridge.

Their jailors set the treys down while guards gave them narrow-eyed looks of suspicion, and Falinor thought, warning. They especially eyed Chiarro with intimidating stares that put the man to nervous shaking.

Once the giants stepped out of the cell and locked the door, Falinor watched as the men rustled about toward the steaming bowls.

“Poison?” suggested one man.

“Why?” another asked. “They could have killed us on the beach.”

“No,” said another. “They want us for something. Hostages, maybe.”

“Or slaves.”

“It doesn’t matter—we need to eat!”

“Yes,” said Chiarro with a nod. “We must keep up our strength. He bent to the platter and picked up two bowls and handed them out. He continued to do this for some time. “Here, Falinor. Take yours. We don’t want you losing your strength, now do we.”

He accepted the bowl and glanced at the porridge. There was no spoon to eat it with. The giants clearly did not want to give them anything they could fashion into weapons. He dipped two fingers into the bowl and tasted.

Plain grains, boiled in water and milk. It was not bad, especially for a morning meal. It seemed the giants wanted them in good health. But were there giants in particular? It bellied their treatment on the march, where one man had died and was dragged for leagues before the giants bothered unshackling his corpse.

Everyone ate in silence and most of the day passed uneventfully as many of the prisoners offered suggestions for escape, ranging from charging the guards and taking their swords to smuggling a bowl and somewhat crunching it down into something that could be used to scrape the mortar out of the walls.

Muttered complaints of defeatism and denial of their situation were common. Something had to change eventually. An opportunity would present itself, and Falinor would keep on the lookout for just such an occurrence.

Chiarro seemed to think Falinor would lead them safety when they escaped together, so he stayed near, occasionally giving him pointed looks and nodding with a knowing acknowledgement.

He wanted to tell the other man to be watchful and ready, but without knowing if they would indeed ever have a chance to escape, he said nothing.

Evening descended and another meal was brought forth, this time consisting of bread, more porridge and a small piece of roast meat. A water bucket with a wooden ladle was also provided.

One of the giants remains before the door was closed. He glanced at them from behind his curling bangs. “Some of you will be attending the feast tonight.”

The prisoners glanced among themselves in a fluffy of curiosity and surprise.

“When you are called, you will come, and you will do as you are told,” said the giant sternly. “If you do not obey, you will flogged and your meals will not be given to you. Be ready!”

Saying no more, the giant turned and strode out of the prison chamber.

“What would they want us at the feast for?”

Falinor said nothing.

“Perhaps they wish to watch us fight a blood duel for sport,” suggested Doldriss.

“No,” Chiarro said thoughtfully. “I do not think so.”

“And why not?” asked the prisoner with the pointed beard.

A thin prisoner who looked like he could hardly swing a sword or draw a bow leaned in. “Humiliation,” he suggested. “We are prisoners of a battle they won handily. If it were me, I would do the same.”

“You may have something there, Jerrik,” Doldriss said as he ripped a piece of meat from bone.

Then more conspiratorial, another suggested, “This could be our chance at escape.”

“But not all of us will be called.”

“No,” Falinor finally said. They all looked up at him. “I suspect very few of us will be called.”

“I hope it’s not me,” said the skinny soldier. “I’d rather sleep in this piss-stinking cell than be paraded out there.” He thrust his chin up.

Godsdammit, he thought, knowing it would be him, surely. That giantess. She wanted Falinor for something.

When they came for the men, two more giants with swords accompanied them. The stern one from before glowered at them all, then raised his arm. He pointed to Chiarro. “You.”

The little sorcerer glanced about uncertainly as he stood and pointed to himself.

The giant beckoned him without a word and he obeyed. One of the other jailors too him by the scruff of his neck to watch over him.

The giant continued glaring. “You.”

Captain Dolldriss did not move.

“I said you—with the sullen eyes. Get up!”

He obeyed this time, though he did not move with alacrity. When he went forward, the stern giant backhanded him lightly, though to the captain, it must have felt like quite the blow, as he grunted loudly from the strike.

“Do not strike them,” said another voice from behind. “It was one of the giants in the hall. Remember why we want them.”

Why did they want them? wondered Falinor. A shiver ran down his spine. They did not want them with visible bruises?

The stern-faced giant called several more names.

Then finally.

“You!”

The giant pointed directly at him. Falinor regarded him, then he stepped forward, moved slowly but deliberately and passed the tall giant glowering down at him.

“I am watching you, human.”

The swordsman wondered why this giant singled him out in such a manner. “Are you afraid of a tiny human?”

A snicker came from one of the giants. The stern one jerked back to look at whoever had laughed, but not finding the culprit, he grabbed Falinor by the shoulder.

He could not keep from wincing from the iron grip of that hand.

The giant leaned down as his hand tightened around Falinor’s shoulder. For a moment, he thought he might start hearing his own bones crack as the giant leaned in. Close, with with his mouth near Falinor’s ear and his heart started hammering. “If it were not for the princess’ wish, I would have you dead already, human.”

Falinor could not help but narrow his eyes at the threat—a threat he knew the giant could easily carry out.

But what was this about a giant princess?

“Let’s go,” the stern giant said as he grabbed the back of Falinor’s tunic and moved to exit the cell.

As they were marched down the stone corridor, the sounds of drums and of laughing could be heard. Chiarro glanced apprehensively in Falinor’s direction.

The swordsman gave him the subtlest of nods.