Saltlick's true name, which Moaradrid's men had mispronounced. Saltlick didn't hesitate this time to return the show of affection. He clung to her as if his life depended on it, and both their faces were soon streaked and grubby with tears.
This was what he'd struggled for: his place, his people and his family. A sudden sadness knotted my throat. I had none of those things. Still, in that moment, I understood perfectly.
With that insight, a new thought occurred to me. I drew out the giant-stone and held it up.
'Saltlick,' I called. 'You need to take this now.'
Saltlick looked at me, with surprise at first and then with horror.
'I know, I know, you're not good enough. Well, I'm not an expert on giant politics, but you seem popular at least. So maybe you can just be the stand-in chief until someone better comes along.' I pointed. 'Either way, that staff isn't going to mend itself.'
I could see he was about to protest again; but the nearby giants had seen the stone by then, and suddenly the air was filled with deafening, delighted cries.
'Saltlick… take it.' I had to shout to make myself heard. 'Mend the staff. Make things right.'
Saltlick gave the barest nod. He reached down and plucked the giant stone from my hands.
Abruptly, a cry went up from every corner of the square: 'Shol Tchik! Shol Tchik!'
He walked with slow steps to the centre of the clearing. He lifted the staff with one hand, holding it as gently as if it were a sleeping baby, and with the other pressed the stone into the clasp. Then he closed his fist around both stone and clasp and squeezed. When he took his hand away, the staff was whole again.
The resultant cheer was so thunderous that I thought my eardrums would explode. When Saltlick reached out to put the staff back on its perch, the wail of protest was if anything louder. He hesitated. Then he drew it back, planted its base in the ground before him, and bowed his head. Every giant fell silent, so suddenly that it seemed all sound had been sucked from the world. As one, they dipped their heads, just as Saltlick had done.
If there was more to the inauguration ceremony, I never saw it, because at that moment, a shout rang from the edge of the clearing behind us. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I recognised the giantess who'd opened the gate for us. She beckoned to Saltlick, cried his name, and rattled off a sentence in giantish. Then she turned and pointed back the way we'd come.
Saltlick hesitated for just an instant, his eyes flickering over those gathered around him. Then he began to run, still clutching the staff.
'What? What is it?' I cried as he bolted past.
When he didn't answer, I fell in behind him, and Estrada followed us both. We charged out of the clearing, Saltlick gaining distance with each stride. I had no idea what the giantess had said, but the sinking sensation in my stomach gave me a fair idea of her meaning. I ran with all my strength, until my muscles shrieked with pain. I ran on and on, past the blur of endless trees, past the banner-walls, out through the suburbs of the giant settlement.
By the time I caught Saltlick, we were in sight of the gate. He'd stopped at the base of the embankment and stood with his head cocked to one side. I came to a stumbling halt and hunched over with my hands on my thighs, gasping for breath. Estrada, arriving next to me, just barely managed to keep to her feet.
At first, I couldn't make out anything over the sound of my own heartbeat pummelling my ears. Then, as the drumming subsided, I heard it. The shout was faint, distorted by distance. For all that, my blood turned to frost in my veins.
'Giant! Thief!'
It crossed my mind simply to ignore him. He was outside and we were safe inside, so why shouldn't things stay that way indefinitely? But if Moaradrid had come here, it stood to reason he had the means to make us listen to whatever he had to say.
'We're here,' I cried, as loudly as I could bear.
'I have someone here who needs your help. A certain guard-captain of your acquaintance.'
Estrada put a hand to her mouth and made a small, choked sound.
'This bridge clearly wasn't intended for cripples, so you may wish to hurry.'
'Oh no.' Her eyes met mine. 'Damasco…'
I thought about pointing out how much Alvantes hated me, and how I didn't feel much more warmly toward him. I thought about pointing out that we'd won, that I'd done what I came to do, and couldn't we just leave it at that? I thought about a lot of things, but none of them did anything to change the look in her eyes — the desperation, the pleading, and behind all that, the faint glimmer of hope.
'He's going to want the stone,' I said to Saltlick. 'He'll try and trade Alvantes's life for it. Maybe I could bluff him, or keep him talking while…'
Saltlick reached up and tore the giant-stone free of its clasp.
'Oh. That would work, too.'
He took a stride towards the gate.
I darted in front of him. 'Wait, wait! Let me. He'll want it to be me. And let's face it; you're not exactly built for rescue missions on narrow rock bridges. It has to be me, Saltlick.'
Saltlick considered for a moment. Then he reached down and handed me the stone.
'We'll get it back.'
I knew it wasn't true. I could see in his eyes that he knew too: that he'd brought hope to his people only to snatch it away again. My witless attempts to help had only made things worse. I decided that overall it might be easier to have my head lopped off by Moaradrid — easier at least than having to see the results of more of my mistakes. I turned and hurried up the bank.
Saltlick bounded ahead, caught hold of the rope and began to hoist the gate open. As soon as there was a gap, I ducked and slithered through. I sprinted through the crevasse and came out on the other side, to the narrow outcrop that met the rock span. I saw Moaradrid. I saw his men. I saw Alvantes, and my heart sank.
He waited just in front of the warlord at the dead centre of the bridge. A half-hearted attempt had been made to bind and strap his mutilated arm, but it was largely defeated by the coils of rope that bound him shoulder to wrist.
He was barely recognisable as the man I'd once found so formidable. His skin was sickly-pale, he was dishevelled and dirty, and only the way he held himself upright despite obvious pain and exhaustion hinted at his former strength.
Moaradrid too appeared tired, and though his leg wound was better bandaged, the linens were pinkstained, and he stood uncomfortably. Even his men, waiting on the far mountainside, looked worn out.
Moaradrid acknowledged me with a curt inclination of the head. 'There you are.'
I stepped onto the beginning of the bridge.
'Here I am.'
'Are you prepared to get this over with?'
I took a couple more steps. I heard Saltlick arrive on the outcrop behind me, and felt an urge to say something, anything, to delay the moment when I dashed his hopes for good.
'You won't win, Moaradrid.'
He was smiling, but the smile seemed frozen in place. There was no trace of it in his voice as he said, 'Stupid little thief. No understanding of anything bigger than yourself. Of course I'll win. What's more, I'll be a good king. Far better than that oaf in Pasaeda.'
I took another step. 'Let him go.'
Moaradrid gave Alvantes a nudge that made him stumble towards the edge. 'Please. Choose your words with a little care.'
'I mean… it's me you want. Me and the stone.'
'My stone. Yes, I'd like that back. You I care little for. Though maybe if you were dead you'd finally learn to keep out of my business.'
'I'll bring it to you.'
'And quickly, please. I think your friend is getting dizzy.'
I gulped, tried to keep my voice steady. 'I can see that. So once he's safe on our side, you can have it.'
Moaradrid's smile dissolved. 'What do you think is happening here, you ridiculous mooncalf? Have I come all this way to haggle like a market trader?' Abruptly, he caught hold of the rope behind Alvantes's shoulders and
