Sworn To Conflict: Courtlight #3 (8 page)

From behind her Titus picked up where Kane had left off. “If we see a threat, we will take care of it. We ask that you remain between the two of us at all times, no matter where we are.”

“Is that all?”

She hadn’t turned to look at Titus, but she heard him shift his feet behind her. “That’s all.”

“Well, here are
my
demands. You treat me with respect and not like some fluffy doll you got stuck with.”

Kane’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Ciardis smiled with a wicked gleam. She wasn’t mad at him by any means, but if he was going to take his assignment anger out on her, she might as well take her anger out on him. It wasn’t every day that one was tortured and around to tell the tale afterwards after all.

“Do we agree?” she asked softly.

“Agreed,” said Titus. Kane was silent.

“Now, may I see where we are?”

Kane stepped aside and to her left. Titus moved up to stand on her right. Bracketed between the two big giants—and she was by no means small—she took in the encampment in front of her with some surprise. A ring of tents encircled by a barricade of wooden stakes stood in a circle that measure sixty feet across at the very least. She counted fourteen tents, maybe more. But these tents were massive ones that stood at least eight feet high. A cheery fire of bright, leaping flames stood in the center of the rings and armored women moved around in the encampment with laughter and freedom. Two female guards stood at the entrance to the barricade directly in front of Ciardis.

She swallowed heavily. The women were bigger than Kane and Titus beside her.

The pair guarding the gate stared out at them with threatening visages. The one on the right held a battle axe twice the size of Kane’s in her hands while her bright, blonde hair fell to her waist in a thick braid that looped into her belt at the front of her waist. The one on the right’s hair was an even brighter blonde and her features had the distinguishing characteristic of a large scar that bisected her face neatly in two from the left side of her scalp down to the upward curl of the right side of her mouth. Her nose was practically gone.

“Brunhilda, Mildred,” said Kane companionably. “We bring a woman to the feast.”

Ciardis had to wonder why it was so important that she, as a female, was attending. Stepping forward from between the two male presences she suddenly found comforting, Ciardis cleared her throat. She startled when both of the women dropped their battleaxes quickly to form a crossed barricade in front of her. Ciardis gulped. Her head just barely reached the bottom of both axes. The women were that tall.

Ciardis was as tall as her two hulking guards’ upper chests but Titus’s and Kane’s heights paled in comparison to that of the two massive females. She barely reached their waists. They were giants. She decided to pour on the charm. “Good afternoon, ladies. I had hoped to gain a meal with another of my gender.”

The women didn’t bat an eyelash, and nor did their gaze wander from the rigid visage they carried as they look ahead and straight through Titus, Kane, and Ciardis. She was tempted to look back toward her guards for advice, but just before she did a voice of rolling thunder came from inside the encircled encampment.

“Kane, you son of a bitch, what are you doing here?” shouted the woman.

Ciardis’s eyes widened. This woman didn’t sound friendly.

Ciardis watched as the massive female giant strode forward across the snow like a predator stalking its prey. She wore patches of fur that strategically covered her breasts, waist, thighs, and little else. A thick braided leather headband kept wisps of thick blonde hair from her face and a large broadsword was strapped to her back. Her skin glistened with oil rendered from some fat and she moved with the confidence of a born warrior.

Ciardis turned her head slightly to the side to speak with Kane while keeping a wary eye on the approaching woman.

“You know her?”

“We were lovers.”

At that Ciardis raised both eyebrows. The woman had at least four feet and one hundred pounds on her mighty guard. And then Ciardis reassessed. She also moved as sprightly as a gazelle and as proudly as a hunter. She was stunning and deadly.

“Were?” whispered Titus from over her other shoulder.

Kane didn’t respond. Which was just as well, because the giant woman had arrived.

The glare that she leveled at Kane said that she wanted to take his head off his shoulders and stick it on a pike. “I asked what you’re doing here, you bastard.”

“Oh, Inga my love you’ve always been so charming.”

The woman’s mouth narrowed to a thin line and her callused hand twitched as if she wanted to go for her broadsword. A nervous bead of sweat trickled down Ciardis’s spine. She didn’t want to be in between them if Inga did decide to go for her weapon.

“The woman wants to sit at the fire,” said Kane, speaking of Ciardis.

Inga’s sharp gaze turned down toward Ciardis. Ciardis was starting to wish she’d just eaten in her tent. “And what would a human woman want with the food of my people?”

“You say ‘human; as if you aren’t one,” Ciardis retorted. She didn’t bother to hold her tongue. She didn’t like the derision in the woman’s voice.

“I am not.” Inga was eyeing Ciardis the way a cat would eye a potential toy.

“Then what are you?”

Inga drew a knife from her waist and Kane and Titus stepped forward in one smooth movement. The two guards of the gate raised their battleaxes with hardened grins, the first emotion Ciardis had seen cross their faces.

“Step back,” Inga commanded. Her guards settled back into their positions without a word. All emotion was wiped from their faces. Kane and Titus didn’t move, which Ciardis was grateful for.

“Your woman asked me what I am,” said Inga with a lazy flick of her knife. “I only mean to answer her question.”

Staring forward, Ciardis watched as Inga drew the sharp blade against the flesh of her arm. Her blood welled up from the cut she’d sustained, and out it poured, a blue as bright as a multi-faceted sapphire. Ciardis couldn’t contain her gasp.

“You humans may not know my kind,” said Inga with satisfaction, “but you know the legends.”

Ciardis stared up into her face with amazement as she said, “You’re a frost giant.”

“Yes.” The cut had already healed on Inga’s arm.

Frost giants were a legendary people,
kith
that lived in the highest reaches of the Northern Mountains. They were tall, fearsome creatures that could not be killed and bore the strength of a hundred men. They were supposed to be a bluish color all over with no hair, and were rumored to have sixty claws like daggers on their hands. Legend also said that their blood ran as blue as their skin, and that the only way to kill a frost giant was to hack at it until the snow underneath a bright blue. And here stood one before her.

No
,
many
, Ciardis realized as she truly looked at the women who moved around the frost giant encampment with ease. They all looked like Inga, with strong, fearsome bodies, long blonde hair braided to their waists, and dispositions that were outsized.

Ciardis contemplated turning around and telling Kane and Titus that they were going back the way they’d come. She wasn’t an idiot. Frost giants were not only fearsome warriors but were also rumored to be cannibalistic. She looked up at Inga and watched the proud woman’s face harden in distaste. She took careful note of the soldiers meandering around the encampment that didn’t once look at any of the frost giants inside. Not out of fear, Ciardis realized, but out of pride. It was quite clear that the human soldiers and the frost giants were allies but not compatriots. Silently she wondered how it came to be—a contingent of frost giant women in a soldiers’ camp made wholly of human men.

With an honest desire, Ciardis spoke. “Is the food of your people open to a human such as me?”

Inga studied her seriously and a ghost of a smiled showed on her face.

“Yes,” she replied, satisfied, sheathing her knife. “But your male dogs will wait in attendance. They will not eat.”

Ciardis stiffened in outrage on behalf of Titus and Kane until she felt the whisper of a touch on the back of her neck. Glancing up, she saw Titus shake his head in warning.

“Very well,” Ciardis said.

Inga turned and Ciardis, Titus and Kane followed behind her through the gates into the frost giant encampment.

Ciardis looked around as much as she could while bracketed by Kane and Titus. She openly stared at the tall woman warriors, the shortest of which was at least nine feet tall. They were a small group, but they all looked a lot alike. Several were sharpening weapons, others were carving wood, and more were lounging by the fire in the center. Inga led them over to a small creature that stood menacingly over a pot of bubbling stew. Inga grabbed two wooden bowls and handed one to Ciardis. The bowl was as big, as deep, and as heavy as a solid metal chamber pot. She staggered under the weight.

Inga snorted when she saw Ciardis’s predicament and grabbed it back from her.

“Smells good. Thank you,” Inga said affably to the thing serving the stew. It had four arms that were visible above the big, black cauldron, at least three sets of eyes, and enough silvery blue fur to outfit a dozen coats. With awe and unease, Ciardis realized she was looking at a spidersilk. A creature coveted for the smooth and silky fur that it shed which was used by many mages. Spidersilks were rare creatures that didn’t leave the North,
ever
, and were highly poisonous. When it opened its mouth to coo at Inga, Ciardis blanched. It had four fangs in its mouth. All dripping with the toxin that was said could kill dragons...or at least make them very sick.

The spidersilk made some clicking noises at Ciardis once it served her the stew. Inga guffawed.

“It says you’re too small to eat. You need to fatten up.”

Ciardis outright stumbled. “I hope it doesn’t plan to eat me.”

“You never know what a spidersilk plans to do,” said Inga as she sat down on a log that looked like it had been ripped from a great and might tree. Ciardis came up beside her but couldn’t even reach the top of the log, let alone sit on it.

From somewhere Titus came up with stools. Human-sized ones. Ciardis gave him a grateful look. He sat it behind her and put another in front of her to serve as a table. Inga promptly sat in front of her, handing over a large hunk of bread. The woman was already eating, and after a glance at Kane’s encouraging face Ciardis started to, as well.

She tried to interrupt Inga once to ask her about the encampment and why they were here, but the glare Inga leveled at her, her cheeks full of stew-soaked bread and meat, made Ciardis reconsider.

If it had been anyone else, Ciardis would have thought the situation quite funny.

W
hen Inga finally finished her meal a half-hour later, Ciardis was fairly bursting with questions. She knew very little about frost giants but she did know the human mantra: They were deadly, they were evil, and they were stupid. For a stupid, deadly, and evil creature, Inga ate with a delicacy that rivaled that of most villagers. Picking her teeth clean with a sharp bone and tearing bread neatly to soak up the broth weren’t exactly high court manners, but her behavior certainly beat the ravenous, bloodthirsty beasts Ciardis had always assumed a frost giant to be.

And it wasn’t just Inga. The frost giant warriors surrounding her ate, laughed, and sharpened their weapons just like a normal group of soldiers. They also didn’t appear to be cannibals with sixty claws like daggers on their hands. As she snuck glances around as she finished her meal, Ciardis was flummoxed. She continued to search, but there was one thing she didn’t see: frost giant men. Every single warrior in the encampment was female. It wasn’t hard to tell with the skimpy leather and fur outfits they wore; weapons weren’t the only things on display.

Her eyes roved back to the area in front of her to find Inga staring at her with a frank gaze.

“What do you want with us, human?”

Ciardis bit her bottom lip. She didn’t know Inga. She didn’t know Kane or Titus. She couldn’t trust that tongues wouldn’t wag and whispers wouldn’t get back to General Barnaren. She was never one to gossip maliciously behind someone’s back. If she were going to confront the general, then she’d do it herself. Ciardis leant forward with her arms on her knees, a serious expression on her face and her hands clasped in front of her.

“I want the truth. Why are you and your women warriors here? What are we fighting for in this north?”

“We,” said Inga, a hint of mockery in her tone. “
We
are fighting nothing!”

Ciardis hunched her shoulders. A frost giant’s fury was something to see. All she could think was,
She’s angry
, over and over again, as she watched a curious effect of that anger appear on Inga’s skin. The pale skin turned blue. It certainly wasn’t a midnight blue that would rival her eyes, but her skin did, in fact, have a bluish tint. So light was the change at first that Ciardis thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. But the blue color continued to appear and thicken until it was the color of a dark robin’s egg.

She was well aware that she should be horrified, but a half-smile graced her face. Inga didn’t take kindly to the half-smile, and her rant continued.

“It is I,” she said while pounding her formidable chest. “I and my warriors who fight the battles on the plains and in the crags of the mountains. Your men are too pitiful and too scared.” Inga spit to the side into the flames, which flared when her saliva hit the fire.

What in the world was in her saliva that would fuel flames? Whatever it was, Ciardis didn’t want to come into contact with it. Then she took stock of her surroundings. Angry hisses from the women warriors all around them erupted as conversations stopped and suddenly focused on Ciardis and Inga sitting by the fire.

“You tell them, Inga!” came a shout from a woman standing far behind her leader. When Ciardis glanced at her, she saw a necklace of fangs hanging ominously around her neck.