The Tiras wasn’t a small coastal trader, but a big merchantman, used for city-to-city trade. Only the grain ships of Nearer Tarsh were larger. A wooden and decked-over cabin rose in the back third of the Tiras. Built directly above the bow was a small forecastle. In the forecastle were sailors and a dart-throwing catapult.
Lord Uriah roared, “Grooms and runners, wade out to the barge!”
Joash jumped off the chariot and into the chilly sea. The bottom was sandy. He waded and saw seaweed drifting toward him. A wave slapped him in the face, and he tasted salt. Then, he no longer felt the bottom and had to swim. Soon, strong hands helped him onto the barge. Sailors rowed awkward oars, bringing the flat-bottomed vessel toward shore. Adah shivered beside him, and then so did Amery, Beker, and several others.
In the distance came the sound of a horn. It wasn’t a ringing trumpet blast, like Elonite horns, but a flat and ominous sound. More horns blared. The giants neared. Then, a terrible sight filled the humans with dread. Seven giants topped the rise and ran clanking toward the sea. They stopped upon seeing the Tiras and the chariots in the water.
A driver groaned in fear, and then said hoarsely, “I see Ygg the Terrible.”
“Ah, we’re doomed,” cried another man. “Gaut Windrunner stands with them.”
“I see Motsognir Stone Hands.”
The giants glistened with sweat, and their chests heaved. Each towering Nephilim was different from the other. Motsognir Stone Hands had mighty bronze wristlets that glinted in the waning sunlight. Ygg the Terrible wore a horned helmet, and he had plaited his long dark hair into five strands. He wore a necklace of human skulls. Black-bearded Mimir lifted his axe and pointed it at the Tiras. He spoke to the others. They nodded. Ymir, a one-eyed giant, wiped his face with a cloth that could have been a man’s cloak. Mimir spoke again sharply. The others lifted their weapons. Ygg the Terrible ran forward and heaved his spear into the air. It soared high above the chariots and over the barge.
As the spear sailed, Ygg roared, “FATHER JOTNAR POSSESSES YOU ALL!”
Joash shivered, as if icy water splashed against his face. The barge-rowers groaned with fear. The charioteers moaned and seemed to wilt as a plucked flower left in the sun’s blaze. Many of the warriors turned away from Ygg, as if he’d become too awful to look on.
Had the giant cast a spell? It seemed colder, the waning sunlight less bright. The warriors around Joash moved sluggishly, as if already defeated. Only those nearest him still had some spirit left.
The fearsome, legendary giants roared and charged toward the beach. The sabertooths, led by the scarred champion, snarled and launched themselves back into the water.
“Heave!” Herrek shouted. Heavy spears rose unevenly and fell among the sabertooths. The savage brutes pulled up short.
“Drive for the barge!” Lord Uriah cried.
The charioteers needed no more urging. They drove headlong toward the nearing barge, even though it was still too deep for them to drive the entire way.
The sabertooths charged anew, the giants following close behind. The Huri in the launches, who had drawn closer, let their flint-tipped arrows fly. Sabertooths roared with painful rage. More arrows flew. The sabertooths, hating the water and the sharp-hurting stings, retreated once more. The giants didn’t. They ran past the beasts and splashed into the green sea.
“For Father Jotnar!” the giants roared, although they sounded winded. Titanic spears flew. Huri screamed, a fistful of them swept from the nearest boat. The sailors on the barge quit rowing. A catapult dart whizzed from the Tiras. It missed Ymir by a foot.
Ygg the Terrible plucked a skull from his necklace and hurled it at the barge. Joash saw that the skull had gems in the eye sockets. The skull landed in the middle of the barge with a thud, as if it was much heavier than it possibly could be. A sinister green vapor billowed out of it. Whomever the vapor touched dropped dead, without a gasp or a groan. With a cry of fear Joash ran, jumped overboard, and swam toward a boat. He saw Adah swim toward the distant Tarsh ship. The rowers in the closer boat helped Joash in.
Joash saw the plight of the now-floundering charioteers.
Lord Uriah solved the puzzle. He leaped over the front railing and stood on the pole between his two stallions. With his sword he freed the horses. They swam at his urging. He jumped and grabbed the mane of one. The horse swam toward the Tiras, dragging the armor-weighed Lord Uriah along.
Other charioteers did likewise, although not all. A thrown spear slew red-bearded Karim and the horse he hung onto. Another charioteer lost his grip, and because of the heavy armor drowned, although the stallions kept swimming.
“Lord Uriah!” roared Mimir, hip-deep in water.
Lord Uriah craned back, his sword in one hand, the horse’s mane in the other. He was in deep water, well away from the giants. The horse valiantly struggled.
Mimir heaved his spear. Lord Uriah judged the cast. He let go of the mane, and like a stone sank out of sight. The horse screamed. Then it sank, dragged down by Mimir’s spear.
Joash couldn’t believe it. He stared at the spot where Lord Uriah had gone down. After more than five hundred years of life, could the Patriarch of Elon and Shur at last be dead? A moment later, Joash cheered. Lord Uriah bobbed up, minus his armor. Somehow, the old warrior had cunningly divested himself of it.
Mimir roared, “You sly old fox!” He waded, axe in hand, toward those charioteers still in the shallows.
Joash saw that in their armor the remaining charioteers would never be able to outmaneuver nor outrun the giants. Strangely, none of the charioteers had stayed aboard their chariots. They all looked sick with dread and fear, as if hexed. The thought of a magic that dulled a warrior enraged Joash. A deep hatred welled from, until now, a hidden source. It wasn’t right that the warriors of Elon be butchered like sheep. He had to do something! The anger melted his terror, enough so he could act. “Help me pick up the warriors!” Joash shouted at the rowers.
They stared at the terrible giants who waded ever closer. The sailor at the tiller shook his shaven head.
Hardly daring to believe what he did, Joash advanced upon the sailor at the tiller. “Pick up warriors!” he shouted, brandishing a knife. The rowers reached out and tripped him. He went down, his chin striking a wet wooden rib. The knife was pried from his fingers. “You must rescue the warriors,” Joash wailed from beneath a rower.
Someone gave a sharp order. The rowers let Joash up, although they didn’t give him his knife.
“If you don’t pick up the warriors they’ll all be killed,” he said.
The shaven-headed sailor at the tiller nodded curtly. To the terrified groans of the rowers, he ordered them toward shore.
Joash rose. He witnessed a horrible scene.
Motsognir Stone Hands swept his axe and smashed through the shield, armor, and into the ribs of Othniel. The warrior gritted his teeth in pain. Motsognir wrenched out his Bolverk-made axe, which hadn’t even been notched by the blow. So, too, did he wrench out Othniel’s spirit from his body. Because of the weight of Othniel’s armor, the dead warrior sank below the waves.
The other charioteers wailed in fear and misery. They struggled neck-deep toward the now-empty barge, although the weird green fog upon it looked deadly. The waves made things difficult. Many charioteers cried out in terror as a wave washed over their heads.
“Herrek!” Joash shouted. “This way.”
With his helmet gone and his red hair soaked, Herrek saw the boat and Joash. He slipped off his shield and waded toward Joash’s boat. Other warriors followed the Champion’s example. Behind them, the giants boomed vile insults.