The length of the ensuing conversation seemed to bear out my guess. Even then, however, Saltlick did most of the talking. The former chieftain answered in brief snatches, when he bothered to reply at all.
Whatever was occurring, it obviously wasn't going to be resolved any time soon. I dismounted, stretched saddle-sore muscles and sat down on the grass.
I couldn't say what I'd expected to find. It struck me that until that moment, I hadn't entirely believed the giants would even have waited here. Despite everything I'd learned about them and their society, despite everything I'd witnessed, it was hard to imagine any people could be so bound by tradition. Surely, once a day or two had passed with no sign of Moaradrid and no fresh instructions, they'd have began to question? If not then, surely when the last of Moaradrid's army packed up and left?
Alvantes caught up and watched Saltlick and the former chieftain for a while, with obvious irritation. Then he too dismounted. 'What are they doing?' he asked. There was disgust in his voice, as though he found something offensive in the sight of so much apathy.
'They're waiting,' I said, 'for Moaradrid to come back with the giant-stone and give them new orders.' Another thought occurred to me. 'I bet it was the last thing that bastard told them.'
'Surely they realise he's not coming back?'
'I'm not sure it's that simple.' After my experiences with Saltlick, I thought I understood, at least a little. Putting it into words was another thing entirely. 'Imagine if someone told you that you didn't need to breathe any more. Even if you knew it was true, even if there was no doubt in your mind, could you bring yourself to do it?'
'That's absurd. Nobody's telling them not to breathe. They simply need to forget their stupid stone and go home.'
'When,' I said, 'the most basic rule of their society says they can't.'
'Then they should have sense enough to realise the rules have changed.'
'Says the man trooping the length of two countries to deliver bad news to a king he's never met.'
Alvantes frowned. 'I've met the King.'
'Fine. I'm sure that once you arrive it will be straight to the nearest inn to catch up on old times. My point is, you're hardly one to lecture on discarding outmoded social values. In fact, right now I'd say Mounteban's the expert on that front.'
'If you're so enamoured with his ideas, perhaps you should join him.'
'And perhaps you should be more understanding of the giants. They've been dragged from their home, tormented, forced against their every instinct to fight someone else's war and abandoned — while in the meantime, the system they've relied on for countless generations has been turned inside out and used to enslave them. That should be enough to confuse anyone.'
'Make whatever excuses you like,' said Alvantes. His voice was taut with restrained fury. 'The fact is, they're no use to anyone like this.'
Then I understood. I remembered what Alvantes had asked me on the road from Altapasaeda; I knew why he'd agreed to accompany Saltlick, and why he was so angry now. Even after everything, he'd still hoped the giants might be recruited in his battle for Altapasaeda. He hadn't heard a word I'd said.
I'd never hated Alvantes more than I did just then. Yet — on some level, I really did understand. Altapasaeda meant everything to him, and it was in Mounteban's hands. I doubted there was anything he wouldn't risk, harm, or sacrifice to save it.
It was a good thing Saltlick chose that moment to break off his conversation with the former chieftain. As he lumbered towards us, his expression was as despondent as any of his brethren's.
'What's going on?' I asked.
'Old chief won't leave,' he said, speaking low enough not to be overheard. 'Wait for new chief.'
'Surely you told him what happened?'
Saltlick shook his head, so slowly that the gesture seemed almost painful. 'Stone makes chief,' he said. 'Chief makes orders. No stone. No chief. No orders.'
'You mean, because Moaradrid can't take back his command and no one can make a new one they're just going to sit here and die?' Damn Moaradrid, if only he'd thought to give back the giant-stone before plummeting to his death this would all be so much more straightforward. 'Can't you talk them round?' I asked.
'Tried to talk.' Saltlick sat heavily, cupped his chin in his hands. 'Think now. Try more.'
Despite what I'd told Alvantes, it was hard to credit that the giants were really willing to sacrifice their lives over some loophole in their social order. Most absurd was the fact that to all intents and purposes, Saltlick was now their chieftain. Perhaps I was missing the subtleties of giant politics, but he'd certainly been ordained when we'd visited their enclave high in the Castoval's southernmost tip. Surely that counted for something? Could they really be so hidebound that only Moaradrid's miraculous return from the grave would release them?
Either way, nothing I could contribute would help. I doubted the majority of the giants would even understand me. This was one Saltlick would have to work out alone.
Looking round for a diversion, my eyes fell on a wagon approaching in the direction we'd come from. A man and woman a few years older than me and dressed in peasant garb sat together on the driver's seat, with two small children running along beside them. A great quantity of yellowed grass was piled in the rear.
I hailed them as they drew close and the man replied with a wave. He drew the wagon up beside the road and walked towards us. Though he was dressed in the traditional plain white shirt and trousers of the local farmers, complete with ragged wide-brimmed hat, something in his manner told me he wasn't accustomed to poverty.
'That's a new one, isn't it?' he called.
It took me a moment to understand. 'This is Saltlick,' I said. 'He's been away… travelling with me.'
'Ah. More sense than the rest then. My name's Huero.' He offered me his hand.
I shook. 'Easie Damasco. And my travelling companion's Alvantes.'
Alvantes tipped a noncommittal nod to Huero.
'Good to meet you,' Huero said. 'Any friend of the giants is a friend of ours. Not that they'd consider us friends, I don't suppose. Half the time they hardly know we're here.'
Behind, I could see his wife manoeuvring the wagon off the road, towards the centre of the congregated giants. In a flash of insight, I said, 'You've been looking after them. Since the soldiers left.'
'We have.' Huero pointed to a cluster of buildings near the river. 'We owned that farm. We fled when the northerners came. Just in time, I'd suppose. When word had it they'd left, we came back to see. The rumours were true — except for the giants.'
'But just now, you came from the south,' I pointed out.
Huero nodded solemnly. 'They didn't leave much of the farms here. We've been staying with family of my wife's, further down the river.'
'You lost your home? And you're still looking after the giants?'
'It's a long story. But yes, we bring food every morning and evening. All the families try to help a little. Trouble is, we don't have much left for ourselves. If it weren't for the fact that they'll eat almost anything, either they or we would have starved by now. Although, it's as much a problem getting them to eat or drink at all. I think they only do it so as not to offend us.'
That sounded about right. In my experience, just as violence seemed anathema to the giants, so consideration and a sort of fundamental politeness came naturally to them. Now, it seemed, politeness was the only thing keeping them alive.
'We'll keep it up so long as we can,' added Huero. 'They don't much care about the weather, that's something. But they can't last out here forever.'
Abruptly, both Huero and I looked up, as a great shadow loomed over us. Saltlick had approached almost silently. One glance at his face told me he'd followed the entire conversation. He squatted on his haunches, bringing himself closer to Huero's height. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Friend to giants.'
He spoke with such solemnity that it was almost funny. Yet, for once, I found I couldn't laugh at him.
Neither did Huero. 'You're welcome,' he said, emotion welling in his voice. 'I wish we could do more.'
At that, Saltlick destroyed the moment with a grin so wide it threatened to dislocate his jaw. Then I really couldn't help but laugh. After a brief struggle, Huero followed my example. 'Listen,' he said, 'it's going to be dark soon. Do you have anywhere to spend the night?'
I glanced at Alvantes, who acknowledged me with a barely perceptible tilt of the head. 'We don't,' I said. 'We'd be grateful for anything you can offer.'
