Far below, a river raged. He risked a backward glance at the tharuks swarming after him, fire crackling at their heels.
Giant John sprang high into the air and dived toward the black churning water. The rocky walls of the chasm blurred as he sped downward. Then he hit the water, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. His body went numb with cold, and he was swept under.
Blackness surrounded him. His lungs burning, Giant John kicked upward, breaking the surface for a gasp of air, only to be sucked under again, dragged by the swift current toward Tooka Falls.
Giant John battled the current. Grabbing hold of a log, he clung on, panting. The roar of the falls filled his ears. If he could get on top of the log, it could help him ride the falls, otherwise he’d be shredded on the sharp rocks at the falls’ entrance. He grasped at a branch protruding from the top of the log, and tried to pull himself up, but the log kept spinning, dumping him underwater. He gave up, wedging himself between the log and one of its branches.
Above the falls, tharuks were running along the cliff top. Giant John ducked. An arrow thunked into the log where his chin had just been. He grabbed a quick breath before the current swept him past the rocks, over the edge of the falls. Amid a torrent of water, he lost hold of the log and plummeted toward the churning white mass below.
Pounded by water, he hit the surface, smacking his ribs on the log, the force of the falls driving him underwater into darkness. His body was buffeted, swept along in the murk. Giant John couldn’t tell up from down. He’d heard terrible tales of people being swept below Tooka Falls, then popping out again, downriver. Those who fought usually drowned.
Holding air in his screaming lungs, he forced his body to go limp. Eventually, he’d find his way to the surface—unless he got snagged on tree roots.
There was a dark shape on the water. The log. He’d ride it downstream. Suddenly, the surface was pebbled with splashes, tharuk arrow shafts cutting through the water. With burning lungs, Giant John popped up for a breath and dived before the next spray of arrows.
He’d been teased for his large stature as a littling—a largeling, they’d called him—but his strong limbs and lungs made him a powerful swimmer. The river swept him downstream.
It took forever to get to Horseshoe Bend.
It was nearly dusk when he arrived.
Giant John was shivering as he clambered from the water, stepping on tendrils of willow leaves to avoid leaving boot prints in the mud. Growls and cries rang out from the opposite bank. Tharuks were attacking villagers at Spanglewood Settlement, but he couldn’t stop to help. He had an important message to get to Dragons’ Hold. The fate of the whole realm lay in that message. He’d let Giddi know about Spanglewood, so he could send aid.
His widowed mother was at Horseshoe Bend village, only moments away, but Giant John couldn’t stop for anyone. He had to get his message through. He vaulted the fence and ran through the trees. Shards, his sodden clothing and waterlogged boots weighed more than an ox, making it hard going, but he smiled, feeling the magic of the Great Spanglewood Forest around him.
By the time he reached Giddi’s cottage, his limbs were weary. He rapped on the door—three short raps and two thumps. Giddi’s dog, Mischief, barked, then whined.
Giddi opened the door a crack. Light spilled into the dark woods. “John! You’re as wet as a drowned rat! Come in.”
Giddi was the only one who ever called him John; to everyone else, he was Giant. John stepped inside and Giddi embraced him, not bothered by his dampness.
“Tharuks are attacking Spanglewood Settlement. We have to send help.”
Giddi nodded. “Starrus and Benno and some warriors from Horseshoe Bend left a while ago, so they should be there by now. Come and sit by the fire.”
John sighed. Glancing at the cold hearth, he grinned. “It’s good to see you. It’s been too long.”
“It has.” The mage flicked his fingers. Green wizard flame shot from his hands. The wood in the hearth caught, flames licking up the chimney. Giddi hung a pot over an iron bar and swung it over the fire. “We’ll get you out of those wet clothes and some stew into you, then you can tell me why you’ve come.” He opened a cupboard. “Here are your things.”
John took his fresh clothes. “Thanks for hanging onto them for so long.”
Giddi arched a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s not as if they’d fit anyone else.”
John chuckled and stripped off, drying himself on a rough wool blanket. As he dressed, the aroma of stew filled the cabin.
Giddi ladled him a bowlful and pulled some chairs over to the fire. “Now, tell me how you got those bruises all over your ribs.”
Between spoonfuls, John recounted his travels with Marlies, his journey back, and how that tracker had boasted of Zens’ new plans. When he recounted his dive into the Tooka chasm and swim down the falls, Giddi raised one of his famous bushy eyebrows, but said nothing until he’d finished.
“It sounds like you need rest and a good horse, so you can get to the blue guards and on to Dragons’ Hold.” He picked up John’s clothes, running his hands over them as he spoke. Steam wafted off the garments. “You can take Midnight all the way to Montanara. She’s fast and will find her way back here.” Giddi folded the clothes.
“Hang onto them. You never know when I’ll be in a tight spot again.”
Giddi laughed. “I’ve got you out of enough of those, but you’ve saved my hide, too. Remember that first battle
