Gareth Jadaren knew the Giant’s Fist was no palace. The wind howled over it in an unpleasant way, like a harpy chuckling over a trove of carrion. It was desolate, gloomy, and unaesthetic. But it was defensible.
“And the work of tunneling is done for us!” he called cheerfully to Ivor Beguine and Jandi M’baren.
Ivor and Jandi looked dubiously at the monolith that loomed against the mountainside. The valley they had come through was ribboned now with streams and well grown with small trees and fields of mountain flowers, but the occasional crunch of the donkey’s hooves against pumice and a black tumble of rocks peeking through the grasses told of the lava plains beneath.
They had ventured well south of Turmish when they began to hear travelers’ tales of the Giant’s Fist, its legends, and isolation. The stories fascinated Gareth, and he persuaded the others to skim the northern border of Erlkazar and seek out the strange monolith.
He patted the donkey’s neck with satisfaction while the animal snorted and tore a mouthful of sweetgrass from the ground.
“Does Berendel claim the land all around the base?” asked Ivor, coming to stand beside Gareth.
“He does,” said Gareth. “As much as he can. Men set themselves up as barons here, laying claim to a splotch on a map and a handful of villages so others will bob their heads and call them lord. This land’s been part of a half-dozen baronies over the last hundred years, as far as I can tell. Not that it matters, for no one cares to come near it or make it their home.”
“It’s a lonely place,” said Jandi, pulling up more sweetgrass for the donkey and regarding the Fist narrowly. “A sad place.”
“We’ll make it a happy place,” said Gareth. “A prosperous place. All for ten platinum and a promise to call Berendel ‘m’Lord’ twice or thrice a year.”
“Strange he would sell it so cheap,” said Ivor.
Gareth tugged the donkey away from its lunch. “All the folk hereabouts have lived with it all their lives, and it’s just a remote, haunted spot to them. The trading interests want dominance over the established routes, and few think of the wilderness save as a source of occasional good and a breeding ground for pirates. Here”-he spread his arm wide, earning a bleat of protest from the donkey as he accidentally tugged at its tether-“a well-fortified headquarters could command trade from the Eastern Reaches to Turmish and beyond.”
Ivor prudently took the lead rope from him. He patted the donkey, and the animal snorted indignantly. “And we fortify it how?”
Gareth tapped the pouch at his belt where the bracelet lay. “Jandi said she could ward a fortress with this.”
“That’s not a fortress,” said the cat-eyed girl. “That’s a rock you’ve bought yourself.”
“More of a long-term contract,” said Gareth.
“Nevertheless, a rock. A very big rock.”
“A rock we’ll make a fortress,” said Gareth, his eyes gleaming.
Jandi turned to Ivor with a laugh on her lips, and caught him looking at her with a peculiar intensity-a look he didn’t intend her to see. When she returned it, he looked quickly at the ground and his tanned cheeks reddened.
“The sun’s going down behind the range,” said Gareth, oblivious to the silent exchange as he watched the sky turn pink. “I suggest we camp tonight and explore tomorrow.”
If he hadn’t been so distracted by his plans, Gareth would’ve noticed his friends’ replies were more subdued than was their wont.
Jandi sat at the base of an oak, watching Ivor pile black pockmarked lava stones into a ring for their fire pit. Gareth had ventured into the woods a short way to find firewood.
Ivor positioned a stone and stood up, stretching his back. In doing so, he caught her gaze, as she had done his down on the plains, and like him she felt herself blushing. He smiled at her, and the breath caught in her throat. A strange tingle that had nothing to do with her Art spread over her body.
When he turned to look at the ponderous monolith, she could breathe normally again, and the evening breeze felt cool against her flushed cheeks. She tilted her head back to look at the oak above her. The enormous spread of its branches showed its age, and it looked out of place in a wood thick with elm and birch. Perhaps it was an ancient remnant from the oak vastness of the Chondalwood, surrounded here by upstart trees spreading from the forests at the base of the Cloven Mountains. It was as strange among these younger trees as the black stone of the Giant’s Fist was in the softer flank of the mountain range.
She was still studying its interlacing branches when she felt someone approach and stand in front of her. She waited and counted her heartbeats-one, two, three-before lowering her head.
Ivor kneeled in front of her, bringing their eyes to a level.
“You said you could open the inside of a man like a lock,” he said.
“I can.”
“How?”
Jandi considered him a moment. “By making my will into a key and reaching inside,” she said.
He smiled, a teasing smile just short of mockery. “Do it to me.”
“What? No!” she exclaimed.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t wish to kill you.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I don’t think you can do it.”
“Then more fool you,” she said tartly.
“You can’t.” His smile was maddening.
“Is that a challenge?”
He bent close. “Yes.”
She looked a long moment into his dark brown eyes, studying his face. Then she reached out and placed the palm of her hand beneath the open ties of his shirt, against the bare skin over his heart. Her hand was cool and his flesh was warm; she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart.
He didn’t move, still staring into her eyes. It seemed to that her his breath became quick and shallow, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks again. She dropped her gaze, concentrating on her hand on his heart.
He didn’t move as the sigil on her cheek pulsed once with a green light. Tiny green sparks, bright now in the gathering dusk, danced across her body and down her arm. He felt something insubstantial push through the wall of his chest, between his ribs and through the muscle. His pulse quickened at it.
She raised her eyes to his, and it was as if she held his heart cupped in her hands. He knew she could unlock him, but she wouldn’t-not this way.
Jandi closed her eyes, and he felt that gentle, dangerous touch withdraw. When she removed her hand from his chest, the skin it had covered was suddenly cold.
Her lips were warm when he bent forward and covered her mouth with his.
“Where are you laze-abouts? Come help me with the load!”
Gareth’s voice tore through the moment and Jandi and Ivor pulled apart, the breeze chilling their lips. Jandi glanced over Ivor’s shoulder and saw Gareth, his arms piled high with prickly deadwood, standing by the half-completed fire pit. A log rolled off the top of his burden. He cursed and turned toward them, laughing. The grin froze on his face when he saw them together, and he turned away suddenly. The wood falling on the ground made a sound like the clatter of sticks on a stretched hide being beaten to make soft leather.
Gareth and Jandi stood on top of the Fist while Ivor and the phlegmatic donkey kept watch at the base. Jandi drew her cloak closer around her body and shivered. The autumn wind moaning across the Fist’s flat surface was chilly.
“I didn’t leave Bane’s city to sojourn in Bane’s gravel pit,” she grumbled, kicking a pebble over the side. It bounced several times against the side of the monolith, making a clacking sound every time it hit. Far beneath them, she saw Ivor’s head turn to follow the sound.
“It’ll be a paradise by the time we’re finished with it,” Gareth proclaimed, hopping down from a knot of stone and examining the half-illegible characters carved at its base. “Is there any magic left here, from who-or what-went before? We don’t want any residual Power to clash with your Art.”