forest settled to sleep beneath a blanket of snows. He leaped atop the tallest root, which was solid as an oblong slab of granite, and sniffed the cool air. An acrid tang of animal spoor broke the forest’s spell.
He whistled, imitating the call of the arrowbeak, and the forest rumbled behind him. Fangodrim lumbered between the great trunks of the Uyga, trying his best to make no sound and failing miserably. Uduru could never travel with the silence and grace of human hunters, and Vireon did not expect them to. The Giants were not stealthy creatures, but this was their ancestral hunting ground. They had mastered the game here through other means than stalking. The Long Wait was their traditional method of hunting. Sitting like stones curled between the Uyga, they simply waited for bucks, boars, or bears to wander by, and they rose up to cast spears that rarely missed. The hunt of the Uduru was a hunt of patience. Patience and skill. They knew the paths game took toward watering holes, the routes from lair to hunting grounds, and they haunted these animal thoroughfares like towering specters… until they struck and carried home their kill. They were the masters of the northern forests, even if the towering Uyga trees dwarfed them.
Vireon had learned all the hunting tricks of the Uduru from Fangodrim, his great uncle. The Gray One, they called him at court, First Among Giants. Not only did he serve as the King’s personal counselor, but he was the oldest and wisest of the surviving Giants. Fangodrim’s brother was Vod’s father, Fangodrel the First, who died in the fall of Old Udurum. Fangodrim had been Vod’s closest friend, man or Giant.
The graybeard sank to one knee, bringing his great eyes level with Vireon’s own. His pupils were discs of sharpest blue, and the eyeballs sat in beds of leathery wrinkles. Now the smoky odor of his uncle’s beard filled Vireon’s nostrils. Using the head of his spear, the Prince pointed in a northwesterly direction.
Fangodrim grunted his assent, hefted his own spear across his l K acghteft shoulder, and followed Vireon as he leapt from root to ground and sprinted ahead. The Giant’s steps were great strides, the typical Uduru manner of walking which ate up the miles quickly. Vireon could outrun any Giant, but a light sprint let him match his uncle’s huge gait. For days now he had led Fangodrim on the search for an unspoiled herd of Welka, the Giant deer that roamed Uduria. Usually they were too fast for Uduru hunters, so if the Giants missed the Welka migrations, entire populations of the animals would thrive unculled in the upper ranges. Vireon had talked them into tracking the Welka to their distant haunts years back, and every year since he managed to find a valley full of the prized game. Now the scent of the Welka wafted strong. He found evidence of their passing, piles of dung left carelessly among the glades between Uygas and smaller trees.
Vireon raced ahead, topping a low ridge scattered with tonguegrass and spittleweed. Like a squirrel he clambered up the creviced bark of an Uyga. Looking down from his lofty perch, still far below the spreading branches, he saw into the valley beyond. An oval lake gleamed silver beyond the foliage of intervening trees, and a herd of Welka gathered to drink. The creatures’ pelts glimmered black as jet in the mottled sunlight reflecting off the water. Antlers stood white and deadly sharp from narrow heads, and their eyes gleamed like onyx. Each one stood twice the size of a healthy ox, some of the bucks even larger. There must be at least three hundred in the herd; a fourth were immature younglings the size of horses with pale gray coats and no antlers. Vireon was glad he had brought only Fangodrim along, for the approach of even a few more Uduru would have shaken the ground enough to startle and scatter the beasts.
Fangodrim knelt atop the ridge now, his shaggy head directly below where Vireon had climbed. He leaped down to stand at his uncle’s side.
“A fine herd,” Fangodrim whispered. He smiled at his nephew, which made him look much like Vireon’s father. They had the same broad-set lips. “I’m hurling for that tall buck, the one at the near bank.”
“A good choice,” whispered Vireon. “But I see a more impressive display of antlers there… near the Yagga bush.”
Fangodrim nodded. Uncle and nephew took up their spears and crept over the ridge’s spine. In a fluid motion they stood and tossed their twin spears simultaneously. The weapons soared through the air, turning at the apex of their arcs and plunging toward their chosen Welka. Fangodrim’s shaft hit its mark a half-second before Vireon’s, impaling the great buck through the spine and pinning it to the ground. Before the death of their herd-lord could spread a ripple of fear among the herd, Vireon’s weapon took its target in the left side. The steel head and two feet of the Uyga-wood shaft exited from the right flank with a splash of hot blood. Vireon’s kill hit the ground and the herd broke in every possible direction, powerful legs beating silver hooves against the sward, carrying them toward the high ground with a sound like rolling thunder.
“Hah!” Fangodrim shouted. He clapped Vireon on the back, and Vireon could only smile. It was Fangodrim who had taught him the spear and the ways of the hunt. Vod had rarely hunted, and when he did it was in the company of other Men, not Giants. The wilderness had not been Vod’s home. The Uduru hunting ritual was alien to him, raised as he was in the Old Desert by humans. Once Vod had told Vireon, “Son, you are far more an Uduru than I ever was.” Vireon ne K”their chosver forgot those words. He carried them next to his heart like precious jewels no one else could see.
As Fangodrim and Vireon walked down the slope, galloping Welka turned aside, speeding away from them with the natural instinct of prey avoiding predators. The beasts could probably trample Vireon, but never Fangodrim. Vireon wondered if he could outrace a charging mass of them. But they fled like frightened squirrels now, up the slopes and out of the valley.
The hunters approached their kills. Vireon’s buck had some twitching life left in it, so he drew his long knife and finished it with a clean slice across the throat.
By the time they finished draining the carcasses and roping the legs together for carrying, the sun reached its zenith and the lake lit up like a shield of diamonds. They reclined in the shade of a twisting Uyga, taking rest before the long trek home. As always Fangodrim offered to carry Vireon’s carcass for him, and Vireon refused. Often it seemed, perhaps too often, the Uduru, even Fangodrim, forgot his great strength and that of his brother. It seemed impossible for most Giants to grasp the fact that both brothers, although standing barely higher than a Giant’s knees, possessed all the strength of a true Uduru, with twice the endurance and speed. As if two Uduru spirits had inhabited human bodies.
Vireon stared at the brilliant lake, lost in thoughts of spirits and flesh. There were none in the world like Tadarus and himself. Never before had a human woman and an Uduru man produced offspring. Never before had an Uduru possessed the sorcery to take on the form of a man to make this possible. In many ways Tadarus and he were as much children of sorcery as they were of Vod and Shaira. His father had never spoken much of his magic, but Vireon wished he knew more about it. He supposed he never would, now that his father had given himself to the mercy of the Sea Queen.
“You miss him,” said Fangodrim, his voice like the rumbling of distant storm.
Vireon watched clouds move across the water. “My brother?” He smiled.
“Your father,” said Fangodrim.
Vireon shrugged. “You know me too well, Uncle.”
“There is no shame in it,” said the Giant. “A boy may cry, but a man bears his sorrow in silence, and that you have done.”
“My mother weeps enough for all of us,” said Vireon. Hardly a day went by without his mother’s tears glistening like palace opals.
“She loved him,” said Fangodrim. “ Loves him. As you do. As you always will.”
“What use to love a dead man?” Vireon sighed.
Fangodrim grunted. “You are too young to be so grim, boy. Do you think death is an end of things? Death is only a door, and those who die await us on the other side. They are never truly gone as long as our memory keeps that door open.”
Vireon said nothing.
“Do you understand?” Fangodrim asked, looking into his eyes.
‹ Keigth='27'›div› ‹p height='0em' width='27'›‹font size='3'›Vireon nodded. “Tell me about my grandfather.”‹font›
Fangodrim looked upward, into the sun-speckled mass of Uyga leaves. His back leaned against the wide trunk. Vireon lay atop a nearby root on a bed of lavender moss.
“My brother, your grandfather… Fangodrel the Bold,” he said wistfully. “You know his story already.”
“I know only what you’ve told me,” said Vireon. “How baby Vod was stolen by a black eagle. How Fangodrel searched for years to find him and returned to the city empty-handed. He died in the fall of Old Udurum, trying to slay the Serpent-Father.”
