up at me. “He wouldn’t let go of the rope, even when they got close.”
Chapter 9
I pushed my way toward Reggen’s gates—gates wide enough for four wagons. Would a giant be able to squeeze through?
If
there were giants.
The huge doors were still open, but I heard the
clang, clang, clang
of a chain as the portcullis lowered. I shouldered through the crowd until I reached the wooden grate.
Out over the bridge, near the road that led through the farmland, stood two men.
They were men, just men. Dressed in foreign-looking clothes. It was the summer heat shivering up from the bridge, a trick of the eye, that made them look tall as trees.
Then one of the men brushed his shoulder, and the oak beside him whipped back and forth. I gasped. He wasn’t standing far in front of the oak. He stood
beside
it—and was nearly its height.
Giants!
They approached the bridge, moving like huge draft horses, slow and strong. But they didn’t look ferocious for all their size. One even carried a rag doll.
And then I realized it was not a doll.
One giant held a boy by his foot while the second proddedhim with an enormous finger. The child hung limp, his shirt falling over his face. I knew that shirt, even from this distance. I’d sewn it.
Will. The boy was Will.
I couldn’t hear the crowd around me. I could hardly breathe. Another prod brought Will to his senses, and he began thrashing in the giant’s grip. I squeezed the rails of the portcullis until splinters bit into my hands.
“No, Will,” I whispered. “Be still. Be still!”
Will’s struggle seemed to irritate the giant holding him. He shook Will the way a laundress would shake out a shirt.
Will screamed, an animal sound that cut through the shouts of the crowd. Then he went limp again, dangling from the giant’s hand.
I screamed, too, as I fought my way through the masses. I had to reach the door beside the portcullis. Two guardsmen stood there, mouths agape. Watching, only watching!
I elbowed past them and ran across the bridge, my feet hardly touching the stones. The world narrowed to the giants before me and the roar of blood in my ears.
When I reached the other side, I skidded to a stop and scooped up some stones from the roadside. Then I charged the giants, hurling the rocks at them. One flew past the ear of the giant holding Will. He took no notice. The next was better aimed. It hit the creature on his nose.
He hardly flinched.
“Put! Him! Down!”
I shouted, heaving a rock with each word. “Leave him alone!”
Both giants stopped—like wind-tossed trees suddenly turned to stone—and looked at me.
I stumbled back a step or two. Their faces looked human, except for their eyes. Their pupils were slits, like a cat’s. I noticed—even then—that the one who prodded Will wore a well-sewn jerkin of gray leather. He looked like the younger of the two, with smooth cheeks and dark, curling hair. The other giant, the one who held Will, wore poorer clothing, with a pick strapped to his back. What would I do if he decided to use it? The pick was huge, stretching between his vast shoulders.
They
were huge, as tall as six men. My head didn’t even reach their knees.
I didn’t care.
I glared up at them. They stared down at me. And Will hung limp from the giant’s hand.
“Are warriors from your land so puny that they fight stripling children?” I shouted. They looked at each other.
I jabbed a finger at them.
“Put … him … DOWN!”
My voice was even louder than before.
“Oma would not like this,” said the one who held Will. He had tawny hair and a trimmed beard. His melodic voice surprised me. I’d been expecting something nearer a grunt.
The young one narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t agree. But he didn’t try to touch Will again.
Thank goodness for Oma, whoever he was.
“There is no glory in hurting a boy!” I shouted. “Now put him down!”
The young one put a hand on the bearded one’s shoulder,as if to hold him back,
Chapter 9
I pushed my way toward Reggen’s gates—gates wide enough for four wagons. Would a giant be able to squeeze through?
If
there were giants.
The huge doors were still open, but I heard the
clang, clang, clang
of a chain as the portcullis lowered. I shouldered through the crowd until I reached the wooden grate.
Out over the bridge, near the road that led through the farmland, stood two men.
They were men, just men. Dressed in foreign-looking clothes. It was the summer heat shivering up from the bridge, a trick of the eye, that made them look tall as trees.
Then one of the men brushed his shoulder, and the oak beside him whipped back and forth. I gasped. He wasn’t standing far in front of the oak. He stood
beside
it—and was nearly its height.
Giants!
They approached the bridge, moving like huge draft horses, slow and strong. But they didn’t look ferocious for all their size. One even carried a rag doll.
And then I realized it was not a doll.
One giant held a boy by his foot while the second proddedhim with an enormous finger. The child hung limp, his shirt falling over his face. I knew that shirt, even from this distance. I’d sewn it.
Will. The boy was Will.
I couldn’t hear the crowd around me. I could hardly breathe. Another prod brought Will to his senses, and he began thrashing in the giant’s grip. I squeezed the rails of the portcullis until splinters bit into my hands.
“No, Will,” I whispered. “Be still. Be still!”
Will’s struggle seemed to irritate the giant holding him. He shook Will the way a laundress would shake out a shirt.
Will screamed, an animal sound that cut through the shouts of the crowd. Then he went limp again, dangling from the giant’s hand.
I screamed, too, as I fought my way through the masses. I had to reach the door beside the portcullis. Two guardsmen stood there, mouths agape. Watching, only watching!
I elbowed past them and ran across the bridge, my feet hardly touching the stones. The world narrowed to the giants before me and the roar of blood in my ears.
When I reached the other side, I skidded to a stop and scooped up some stones from the roadside. Then I charged the giants, hurling the rocks at them. One flew past the ear of the giant holding Will. He took no notice. The next was better aimed. It hit the creature on his nose.
He hardly flinched.
“Put! Him! Down!”
I shouted, heaving a rock with each word. “Leave him alone!”
Both giants stopped—like wind-tossed trees suddenly turned to stone—and looked at me.
I stumbled back a step or two. Their faces looked human, except for their eyes. Their pupils were slits, like a cat’s. I noticed—even then—that the one who prodded Will wore a well-sewn jerkin of gray leather. He looked like the younger of the two, with smooth cheeks and dark, curling hair. The other giant, the one who held Will, wore poorer clothing, with a pick strapped to his back. What would I do if he decided to use it? The pick was huge, stretching between his vast shoulders.
They
were huge, as tall as six men. My head didn’t even reach their knees.
I didn’t care.
I glared up at them. They stared down at me. And Will hung limp from the giant’s hand.
“Are warriors from your land so puny that they fight stripling children?” I shouted. They looked at each other.
I jabbed a finger at them.
“Put … him … DOWN!”
My voice was even louder than before.
“Oma would not like this,” said the one who held Will. He had tawny hair and a trimmed beard. His melodic voice surprised me. I’d been expecting something nearer a grunt.
The young one narrowed his eyes, as if he didn’t agree. But he didn’t try to touch Will again.
Thank goodness for Oma, whoever he was.
“There is no glory in hurting a boy!” I shouted. “Now put him down!”
The young one put a hand on the bearded one’s shoulder,as if to hold him back,
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