“This is the main road to Tywyll,” Dad said, “so I’m not surprised he came this way.”
“I wonder how far ahead of us he is.”
“That may not matter.” Dad veered into the woods. “I know a shortcut. This way.”
Some time later—it may have been an hour, it may have been a whole damn week—I stopped and sat down on a fallen log to catch my breath. “I thought you said ‘shortcut,’ not ‘obstacle course,’” I complained.
Dad, who was several yards ahead, turned around, eyebrows raised. He grinned and came over to sit beside me. “Sorry, Vic. I didn’t realize it’d be so hard for you to keep up with your old man.”
“I’m a city girl. These woods should come equipped with sidewalks.”
Dad laughed. “We’re making good time. It’s more than a day’s walk to Tywyll by the road. We’re saving several hours this way. We’ll be able to rest for the night and arrive in the city by mid-morning.”
“Rest for the night.” I looked around at the endless expanse of trees, bushes, and rocks. “I don’t suppose you know a hotel around here.”
Dad looked surprised. “You used to beg me to take the family camping. Remember that summer in the White Mountains?”
“I was ten, Dad. I’ve since grown to appreciate the comforts of four walls and a real bed.”
He laughed again and patted my knee. “You’ll love it,” he said, standing. “Come on, we need to make some time.”
Groaning, I stood, too. “What the Darklands needs is a subway system,” I muttered as I followed him through the forest.
22
SOMETHING WHIZZED PAST MY EYE. I THOUGHT IT WAS AN insect, or maybe Butterfly coming out to play again, until it thwacked into the tree beside me. A quivering shaft protruded from the trunk. An arrow. I ducked and ran for cover, drawing my knife as I kept low. Two more arrows zipped by, each so close I could feel a breeze. The feathers of the third one skimmed my cheek. I dived behind a boulder and scanned the woods.
My father stood still, looking around as though wondering where I’d gone.
“Dad!” I said as loudly as I dared. “Get down!”
He didn’t drop. He didn’t give any sign he’d heard me. He squinted into the woods ahead of him. “It’s all right, Vic,” he said at normal volume. “You can come out. The challenge has been issued.”
“What challenge?”
Dad cupped his hands around his mouth. “Rhudda Gawr! We acknowledge your challenge! Show yourself so we can discuss terms.”
Rhudda Gawr. The Red Giant with the magic arrow.
A chuckle rumbled through the woods, deep and menacing. It seemed to come from all directions, bouncing off the rocks and trees. I stood, my fingers throttling the grip of my dagger, and tried to see who Dad was calling.
The bushes parted, and a man stepped out, carrying a longbow. He was big, with wide shoulders and a large, squarish head, but hardly my idea of a giant. He wasn’t even as tall as Axel; maybe six foot five, tops. The “giant’s” bushy red beard flowed to his waist, and he wore an odd-looking patchwork cloak in ugly shades of brown, rust, beige, white, and black. Beneath it, his tunic was gray. As he came toward us, a breeze whispered through the forest.
When he was about six feet away from us, Rhudda Gawr stopped. The breeze stopped with him. I could hear it, but I couldn’t feel the air move or see the leaves stirring. Strange.
“Put away your dagger, Vic,” Dad said. “He won’t attack now.”
“I’ll put away my dagger when he puts down that bow.” I could see the feathered ends of arrows sticking up from a quiver he wore on his back. “I’m not going to stand here and play bull’s-eye for an almost-giant with lousy fashion sense.”
The breeze picked up, but I still couldn’t feel it. Rhudda scowled, his face twisting into a hideous pattern of sharp lines. Then he laughed and leaned his bow against a tree.
“’Tis a female!” he exclaimed. “With that shorn head, I thought it was a boy.”
He almost got a blade in the gut for that remark. But since he’d put down his bow, I sheathed my knife.
“My hairstyle is none of your business,” I said. Okay, it was a lame reply, and I bit my tongue as soon as I said it. But my hair was a touchy subject.
“Just as my—what did you call it?—my ‘fashion sense’ is none of yours.” Rhudda turned to my father. His cape flared with the movement. The sound of the breeze I couldn’t feel rose and fell. “The lady cares not for my cloak. Perhaps she’ll alter her opinion after I’ve added your beard to it.”
As soon as he mentioned Dad’s beard, I remembered Rhudda Gawr’s story. Back in the days of King Arthur, Rhudda had lived on Mount Snowdon in North Wales. When he was victorious in battle, he took his opponent’s beard as a trophy. He won so many beards he had them made into a cloak.
I looked at that garment more closely. It fell from Rhudda’s shoulders to his ankles, and it seemed to move and tremble on its own. Oh, God. Each beard in the cloak had its mouth attached. The mouths moved constantly, whispering. It wasn’t a breeze I’d heard. It was dozens of detached mouths, all speaking voicelessly.
Rhudda’s eyes glowed. “They are compelled to tell and retell the tale of their defeat,” he explained. “This garment is not merely a cloak of beards; it is a cloak of stories. Stories of my victories. Wearing it keeps me in mind of my power.”
Dad had told me that the magic arrow was Rhudda’s second most prized possession. Now I knew what was number one.
“Why did you challenge my daughter? There’s no honor in challenging a woman.” I shot my father a glare at that, but he made a calming gesture with his hand. In a fast, low voice, he said, “Sorry, Vic. But this guy died back in the Dark Ages. I’ve got to use arguments he understands.” He raised his voice to address the giant. “Even if you mistook her for a boy, she has no beard. Let us be on our way.”
“To cross my lands, you must give tribute or answer a challenge. All know that. And I challenge whom I please. Either way, I’ll have your beard.”
“We’re in a hurry here,” I said. “Name your challenge so I can kick your ass and get on with my business.”
Rhudda winced, then turned to my father with a sorrowful expression. “These young ones,” he said. “No sense of decorum.” The beards of his cloak whispered their agreement. He drew himself up to his full, not-quite-giant height and made a cutting gesture with his right arm. The beards stopped whispering. “Tonight you will accept my hospitality. In the morning, this female will meet me in an archery contest.”
My heart sank. The longbow was my all-time worst weapon. I’d been a mediocre student when Mab taught me, but that had been years ago, and I hadn’t picked up a bow since. Why would I when a gun was so much more efficient? Not to mention the fact that Rhudda owned a magic arrow—one that never missed its target—and I didn’t think he’d let me use it. There was no way I could win.
“Three shots apiece,” Rhudda continued. “If she wins, I will grant you safe passage through my lands. When she loses, however, I will claim your beard,” he pointed at my father, “and a pottle of her blood to fill my mug.”
A pottle? What the hell was a pottle? More blood than I could do without, I’d bet.
“So that’s why you challenged my daughter and not me.” Dad’s forehead furrowed with anger.
Rhudda licked his lips. “Clay-born. I could smell her blood a furlong away. Physical blood, not this magic stuff that runs through our veins. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve tasted clay-born blood?” He leered at me, showing sharp, yellow teeth. Then he returned to my father. “Do you accept my challenge?”
Dad threw back his shoulders. “We accept.”
“Wait, hang on. You’re challenging me, not my father. I speak for myself.” The giant’s eyebrow cocked, and again the beards fell silent.
I sized him up, my fingers twitching for my weapons. I could take this guy. Throw the dagger to surprise him, and then run him through with my sword before he even thought to reach for his longbow.
“What if I refuse?” I asked, half a second away from hurling the dagger.
The giant’s mouth quirked upward. Six archers stepped forward from the forest, like ghosts materializing from the fog. All were dressed in green, and all had crossbows, aimed and ready to shoot.
One giant I could take. One giant plus six archers with drawn bows—the equation wasn’t looking so good anymore.
At least I could try to sweeten the deal. “You offer a poor bargain, giant. If you win, you demand our disfigurement and death. Yet if I win, you promise nothing more than safe passage, which costs you nothing. If I’m to risk everything, for both my father and myself, you must put up more on your side.”
Rhudda grinned. The bastard was enjoying this. “And what would you have me wager?”
“One item from your armory. My choice.” The odds were against me—way against me—but if I had to accept this giant’s challenge, there might as well be something in it for me. And there was only one thing I wanted from Rhudda, other than to be left the hell alone: his magic arrow.
An archery contest with a giant who owned a can’t-miss arrow. I was so screwed.
Rhudda threw back his head and laughed. The beards of his cloak laughed with him as he clutched his stomach and bent over in mirth. Even the steely-eyed archer aiming his crossbow at my throat cracked a smile. Glad I was so entertaining.
The giant straightened, wiping away the tears of laughter with the back of his hand. “Done!” he shouted. He gestured to two of the archers. “Go to my castle and have chambers prepared for our guests. And make ready the archery range for tomorrow’s contest with—” He squinted at me. “What is the name of this strange female who has accepted my challenge?”