A careworn woman holding a baby in her arms reached the end of the faro field then sprinted into the rocky desert. The hook-nosed giant chuckled in mad delight and stooped over to reach for her. His knuckles scraped along the ground, raising an orange cloud of dust. She dived to the side, barely escaping the long fingers.
The woman cradled her infant against her body and rolled several times. Rikus thought she might come up running, but upon righting herself, she stopped to look up at her attacker. The giant was already reaching for her again. She laid her infant beside a nearby bush, then fled in the direction opposite Rikus. As she ran, the woman screamed loudly to keep the titan’s attention fixed on her.
“This way!” Rikus yelled, still running.
The woman continued away, apparently unable to hear him. The giant’s hand descended and grasped her. As the brute plucked the woman off the ground, Rikus could see nothing of her except a pair of kicking legs. The titan chortled madly, then slipped her into his bulging shoulder satchel and reached for the infant. As the giant pinched the baby between a massive thumb and forefinger, it seemed to Rikus that he could hear nothing but the child’s wailing voice.
The rest of the farmers came spilling out of the faro field. With the Scourge’s magic, Rikus could hear their individual shrieks of panic as the second giant stooped over to scoop them up.
Suddenly, Magnus’s voice howled over the valley, amplified by the power of his wind-magic. “You giants, leave those people alone!”
The command filled Rikus’s ears with a painful ringing. His first instinct was to drop his sword, but he forced himself to retain his grip and concentrated on the cries of the farmers. As the windsinger’s voice faded away, the mul heard their voices crying out in astonishment. The paupers turned toward the butte, and two pointed toward the summit.
Rikus waved his arm to attract their attention. “Come this way!”
This time, the mul was close enough to make himself heard. Several farmers looked in his direction, then the whole group began to run toward him.
The hook-nosed giant stooped over and smashed half a dozen farmers beneath his fist.
“Don’t run no more!” The words were loud enough that even without the Scourge, Rikus would have had no trouble understanding them.
The giant raised his hand to strike again. To Rikus’s relief, the other one grabbed his partner’s enormous arm before any more paupers were smashed. “Patch said to catch them, not smash them,” said the second titan. He pointed at Rikus. “Besides, here comes a dangerous-looking one.”
“That’s right!” Rikus yelled. Though he was still two dozen steps away, the mul raised his sword. “Hurt any more of my people, and I’ll make your death a slow one!”
The first giant crinkled his hooked nose and glanced at his partner. “I’ll smash him, Tay?”
“No, Yab,” Tay countered, pulling Yab back. “Your brother would crack my head if I let a little man cut you.”
Tay stepped past the farmers and lumbered forward. The giant stood taller than the four-story townhouses that lined the streets of the nobles’ quarter in Tyr. As he came within striking range, the mul had to crane his neck back to keep a watch on the titan’s enormous hands.
The giant reached down to grasp Rikus. The mul waited until the palm filled the sky above him, then voiced his mightiest war cry. The Scourge flashed up, its enchanted blade slicing cleanly through the sinew and bone of three sword-length fingers.
Tay bellowed in pain. Rikus dived forward and rolled. Hot stones scraped at his shoulders and back, then the mul was on his feet again, running toward the open space between the titan’s ankles.
“Stomp him!” yelled Yab.
Tay lifted a foot high into the air. Rikus dodged toward the opposite leg, and the giant’s heel crashed down behind him. The impact was so hard that it bounced the mul off the ground.
Rikus swung his sword at Tay’s leg. Again, the ancient steel passed through the giant’s flesh easily, slicing through the vulnerable knee joint. The mul whirled around instantly, striking at the back of the giant’s other ankle. There was a sick sort of pop as the tendon separated, balling up into two gnarled masses beneath the titan’s skin. Rikus pulled the Scourge free and ran as fast as he could.
Tay screamed and spun around to catch him. The giant’s slashed knee buckled as soon as he set his foot back on the ground. When the titan tried to steady himself with his other leg, his severed ankle flopped about uselessly. He pitched over sideways, hitting the ground with a thunderous crash. He thrashed about madly, clutching at his wounds and raising a billowing cloud of orange dust.
The farmers fled toward the butte, giving Tay a wide berth and cheering Rikus. The mul waved them on, then turned his attention to Yab. The giant’s crag-toothed mouth hung open, while his gaze flickered back and forth between his injured partner and Rikus.
“You’ve had your fun,” Rikus called. He stopped and pointed his sword at the giant’s satchel. “Put those people down.”
Yab’s face turned crimson with anger. “No,” he boomed. “First return our Oracle.”
“What Oracle?” Rikus demanded.
“The giants’ Oracle,” the giant replied, glowering. “The one you Tyrians stole.”
“We never stole anything,” Rikus snarled, starting toward the giant again.
“Liar!” Yab bent over to scoop a boulder off the ground.
Magnus’s lyrical voice rang out from the base of the butte. He sang a deep, somber ballad that filled the entire valley with a strain of melancholy notes. The morning grew still for a moment, then the windsinger raised his voice in a pulsing vibrato that sent whirls of dust scurrying across the desert. Rikus heard a gentle whistle behind him, then felt a strong wind blowing toward the giant.
Yab hurled his boulder.
Magnus’s voice rose to a crashing crescendo, and a tremendous gust blasted past Rikus, so powerful that it swept the mul off his feet and hurled him to the ground. In the same instant, the gale caught Yab’s boulder and flung it back into the giant’s face. The stone bounced off the titan’s cheek, raising a shiny lump and opening a long gash below the eye.
Yab ran his hand along the cut then licked the blood from his fingers as if he were checking to make sure it was real.
Rikus returned to his feet. After glancing back to see Magnus’s thick-limbed form plodding toward him, he resumed his walk toward Yab. “Put those people down,” he yelled. “I won’t tell you again.”
The giant reached into the satchel and withdrew a gray-haired half-elf. He hurtled the man to the ground, smashing the man’s frail body on the rocks.
Snarling in anger, Rikus sprinted forward. Yab thrust his hand into the sack again, this time withdrawing the careworn mother Rikus had seen earlier. “Stop there!”
The mul came to a reluctant stop, realizing that he could not save the woman by continuing his charge. He would have to find some other way to make the giant obey.
Yab grinned maliciously. “Now, drop your little knife, and come over here.”
Rikus glanced back at Tay’s groaning form. “I don’t think so.”
The mul retreated toward the wounded giant, keeping his sword ready in case Tay lashed out at him.
“What’re you doing?” Yab demanded.
“The same thing you are,” Rikus replied, stopping a few paces from Tay’s head. The wounded giant growled and reached toward Rikus with his uninjured hand but stopped short when the mul placed his blade between the titan’s fingers and himself. “What you do to those people, I do to your friend.”
Yab frowned and scratched his ear. He stared at Rikus and muttered to himself in muffled tones, then shrugged and stepped into the faro fields.
“Where are you going?” Rikus asked, puzzled by the giant’s peculiar retreat.
“Don’t hurt Tay, or all these people die. And I can find plenty more, too.” The giant stepped behind Rasda’s Wall and disappeared from sight.