Mark of the Fool
Chapter 707: Giants' Confrontation

The wind was rising when Alex and Birger materialised before the giant’s cottage.

And so was the tension.

Waiting in front of the cottage door as high winds buffeted it against the door frame was Bjorgrund, his face slowly washing scarlet, anger turning it as menacing as the demonic image carved in it. His hands were shaking, clenching and unclenching at his sides. Theresa was to his right, her fingers poised above the Twinblade, not yet touching their hilts.

Not for now, at least.

Brutus—sheathed in bone armour—was growling, three heads held low, a warning rumbling from his chest. He crouched before the huntress and young giant, ready to spring on attackers. Claygon stood with all four arms crossed over his torso, his war-spear’s hilt was planted in a snowbank.

Freshly fallen snow—thickening to icy mist—was swirling through the clearing, layers settling on Birger’s drying racks.

“Claygon!” Alex hissed. “What’s happened? You said the chief’s here?”

He quickly glanced around.

“Where is he?”

Theresa nodded ahead. “Brutus can smell him, and I hear him coming; he’s not alone.”

“How many are with him?”

She frowned, closing her eyes. “Ten…maybe twelve.”

“They must have heard the battle,” Birger reasoned. “But why are they coming? Why now? The fight’s over.”

“I have some ideas,” Alex’s eyes narrowed. “But, honestly? I don’t like any of them.”

Birger looked at Alex sharply, snarling. “You think they sabotaged the ward?” His grip tightened on his crutch.

“What? Somebody sabotaged the ward? …yes it…” Bjorgrund growled. “...it makes sense, father. It’s always this way with them; they don’t care about us.” He took a step forward. “They must have heard the attack from the village, and now that everything’s quiet, they’re coming to see what happened. Probably hoping we’re dead.”

“We don’t know that for sure, at least not yet…” Alex bit his lip. “...but there’s a reason I don’t like any of my ideas. Claygon, you might want to go inside.”

“But…father…” the golem protested. “If they start a fight…I should be here…with you…to protect you…”

Alex shook his head. “We don’t know if it’s going to come to blood and blows,, but you look an awful lot like an Irtyshenan golem knight. If they see you—especially with your war-spear—they’re going to start swinging before anyone gets a word out. Let’s see exactly what they want, first. But, listen to what’s happening and be ready…just in case.”

“...alright…father…” Claygon’s voice dropped to a low snarl. “Can I…go inside…Birger? It’s…not my home…”

“By all means,” the old firbolg said, his eyes not leaving the treeline.

As the golem turned to leave, sounds of movement reached Alex from the forest. Footsteps crunching snow. Twigs snapping. Heavy breaths on the wind.

By the time Claygon had closed the door behind him, firbolg silhouettes were appearing in the distance. Theresa was right; there were twelve armed firbolgs aside from Chief Olaf approaching—Alex caught the glint of dagger blades woven through his beard.

The giants carried rough spun bagsweighed down with stones.

Sharp swords.

Massive axes.

But they were moving—casually—showing no intent on making war, or trying to sneak onto Birger’s lands, nor were they charging with spears high while shouting battle cries and nocking arrows onto bowstrings.

They seemed peaceful, yet moved with caution, watching all directions, seemingly searching for something.

“There, chieftain!” a firbolg pointed at the cottage.

The giants’ pace quickened.

Alex gripped the aeld staff tighter.

Theresa’s fingers twitched. Bjorgrund and Brutus tensed.

Birger drew a deep breath.

Chief Olaf emerged from the trees, entering the clearing, leading his band of giants.

He paused.

Emotions played across the chieftain’s face: surprise, obvious from the widening of his eyes. Strain. And finally…

…he exhaled, shoulders slumping.

‘Is that relief?’ Alex wondered. ‘Or disappointment.’

Without a word, the twelve giants fanned out, silently forming a half-circle around their chief, facing the cottage, staring across the clearing.

Alex watched the newcomers’ stiff stances, furrowed brows, and unfriendly eyes.

Yet, one held Alex’s attention.

A young firbolg—rangy, lean, and barely bearded—was standing a little apart from the others. His body looked tense, as though lightning was running through it. Eyebrows were tight, raised toward his hairline. His jaw gaped. He looked bewildered.

His gaze was focused on Bjorgrund and Birger, rarely leaving them.

‘Seems you didn’t expect to find them here,’ Alex thought, anger sparking in him. ‘You thought they’d be dead now, didn’t you? But why? Why were you so sure they’d be dead?’

“You’re alive, great uncle,” Chief Olaf broke the silence. His lips parted in a smile that was more snarl than smile.

Birger returned the expression. “We are.”

“We heard fighting and came to look in on you.”

“The battle’s done, and our enemies are dead. But, as you can see, we’re not.”

More silence followed.

The wind whipped, growing stronger. Trunks groaned around them. A creaking tree branch snapped, dropping to the ground with a thump.

“It might have been better if you’d come earlier, nephew,” Birger said, nodding to the field behind his cottage. “There’s almost a hundred rune-marked corpses back there. Maybe more. You could have gotten your vengeance; they attacked the village, didn’t they? Which meant they owed you a blood debt.”

“We sure collected,” Bjorgrund growled.

The firbolgs turned their eyes to the young giant.

Hands moved toward weapons.

Theresa’s fingers played along her sword-hilts.

The rangy firbolg, though, never stopped looking at the father and son. Not for a moment. He didn’t move, nor did his expression change. He only trembled, ever so slightly.

“Thank you for that, great uncle.” Chief Olaf blew twin streams of mist from his nose.

“How did they get through my ward, I wonder?” Birger asked, taking a step forward, much of his weight on his crutch.

Chief Olaf bristled. “What’re you implying?”

“One of my trees was damaged,” Birger said, evenly. “Someone put a dagger right through one of the symbols; it cracked the ward enough for the vermin to sneak in. The symbol smelled of our magic.”

Now the chief burst into barking laughter. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye, great uncle, but you helped the clan for centuries. Less than I would have liked, but enough that I’m willing to overlook certain—” He glanced at Bjorgrund. “—problems.”

The young giant’s breath hissed from between his teeth, his face turning redder.

“Now you accuse me of treachery?” Olaf snarled. “You call my honour into question? On account of your old age, I would let this pass—if you apologise—but don’t ever insult me again.”

“Birger’s partly right,” Alex spoke up, all eyes turning to him. “A giant did sabotage his ward, but he’s wrong about which giant did it.” He raised his chin toward the nervous, rangy firbolg. “Why’d you do it?”

The accusation slapped across the giant’s form like a whip, making him recoil. “I-Wha—”

“Don’t do that.” Alex shook his head. “Your dagger stinks of what you did; I could smell Birger’s magic on it from a mile away,” he lied, putting anger and confidence in his tone.

He glared as the giant flinched, fumbling for his knife. “I-wha—”

“I bet if we looked at that knife of yours, there’d be sawdust on it from the tree. The ward magic’s bleeding off of it, don’t try to act like I’m stupid. I know it was you. What I don’t understand is why.”

He pushed on, his words punishing the already off-balance giant. The firbolg whimpered like a guilty child chastised by their parents, now, every eye had turned to him.

“Erlic?” Chief Olaf said. “What’s this?”

“I-I, he’s lying!” he stammered. “I-I was cleaning my knife on a…a trunk! A little while ago!​ That’s all.”

Alex’s smile was fierce; he knew that when pressed, liars often began panicking, offering up a stream of unnecessary details as they came up with excuses, looking to make a made up story sound solid. More believable.

What that often did though, was reveal certain details the person questioning them hadn’t known.

“Are you saying it was an accident?” Birger snapped. “That you nearly had me dead and my son taken because of an accident. No, I don’t believe that! You’ve had it out for Bjorgrund since he protected me all those years ago!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the giant shouted, anger entering his voice. “And even if I did, so what? Rune-marked have been raiding our village since that boy of yours got marked! How long’s it going to be before he joins them?” he snapped. “Keeping him here only hurts the clan!”

“That’s enough!” Olaf barked, glaring down at Erlic. “You said this was an accident?” he asked quickly.

“I—”

“An accident?” the chief demanded.

“Y-yes, chief,” Erlic stammered.

“Deer shit!” Bjorgrund shouted. “Pure deer shit!”

“Language, son!” Birger snapped.

“Muffle that child of yours, great uncle!” Olaf pointed at him, then snapped his gaze back to Erlic. “Two lashes.”

“What? I—” Erlic stammered.

“Only two?” Bjorgrund cried.

“It was an accident,” Olaf said. “Two lashes is more than enough. Erlic will remember to be more careful in future.”

“That knife tore through my symbol on purpose,” Birger said. “And that bastard would have had us butchered—”

“I have spoken,” the chief said. “Two lashes for an accident. The rune-marked came and tried to kill you, true, but you are alive; these travellers helped you, didn’t they? No life was lost, and that’s that. You should count yourself lucky that I sent these folk to you. I send you food, I tolerate what your presence brings to the clan. Let it go.”

Birger stared daggers at Olaf, his voice as cold as a crypt. “Son, will you hunt for us?”

“Hm?” Bjorgrund startled. “Father, you wouldn’t let me hunt. You said the blood could trigger another rune forming.”

Birger shook his head. “If fighting those rune-marked didn’t send you into a frenzy, then hunting deer won’t set you off. Will you hunt for us?”

Bjorgrund smiled. “Gladly!”

Birger nodded, and looked back at Olaf. “I’m going to relieve you of your burdens, nephew. From this day forward you no longer have to send us food. We’ll take care of our own needs. I also ban all of you from our land. If I see a single hair of any of you in our boundaries, then so help me, I’ll make you regret it. I’ll ward the forest to keep you all out. You’ll have no need to worry about my son or I anymore! Begone. Get away from here. Now!”

“What?” Olaf snapped. “These are our lands! You can’t ban me, I’m the chief!”

“This is my land, I’ve owned it longer than your father was alive,” Birger scowled. “He’d be so disappointed in you if he could see you now.”

“Watch it, old fool!” Olaf pointed a finger at his great-uncle.

“And don’t you ever ask me for a single thing!” Birger howled. “Not my knowledge, not my aid! Not anything! From this day on, you and I are done!”

“Arrogant bastard!” Olaf shouted. “I haven’t asked you for a single thing in years! You might have served the clan once, but now you’re nothing more than a doddering fool who dabbles with our enemies! Fine, have it your way! I will be no kinslayer, and that bloody rune-carved beast has our blood running through him! But if I see him hunting on our land, then I’ll see to it that he’s chained like the beast he is, and whipped until the forest is red with his blood. And when we’re done with him, I’ll send him mewling back to you!”

“Try it!” Bjorgrund cracked his knuckles. “I’ve killed rune-marked today, by the dozen! I bet I could break your hands before you could even swing a whip!”

“Animal!” Olaf spat in the snow. “Fine, then! I’ll leave you to your prison! Erlic! No lashes! Everyone, let’s get ourselves gone!”

“Just one moment,” Alex’s voice was calm. “There’s something you should know before you go.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I appreciate what you did for us, showing us to Birger and Bjorgrund. They’re nice people. I like them. But you know who I don’t like? You. You and your self-righteous bullshit, I’m sick of hearing it! I’m sick of bastards like you standing there like you own the world, telling everyone how things should be! Telling everyone their role!”

For a moment, it was as though the First Apostle and the giant chieftain had merged, becoming the same person.

“I tell you what I’m going to do; I’m not as nice as Birger, and he’s not as good with magic as we are. So, I’m going to help him ward his forest. If anyone steps one foot inside the treeline that he, his son or I don’t want there, our ward will crank their senses so high, that their own clothes rubbing against their skin will feel like someone’s scraping their flesh off! The sun will scorch their eyes, and even the slightest whisper will make their eardrums feel like they’re about to burst! And that’s how they’ll keep feeling, as long as my magic holds. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, I have a helluva lot of magic.”

He raised his chin.

“That’s my promise, and I’m declaring it to you today, so if you ever set foot here again, don’t say you weren’t warned. Now, leave!” Alex’s voice echoed over the trees. “Or I’m going to make you wish you had something as kind as a whippunishing you!”

He raised the aeld staff, its blooms blazed with warning.

His words held power.

They held strength.

And his enemies drew back like scalded dogs.

Alexander Roth had not spoken like the Fool of Uldar, or even the fine student and capable businessman from Generasi.

No.

His words were those of a commander…more like those of a general.

And in the face of that intimidating tone?

His foes turned and fled.