A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,271

a khern, a stalk hawk sitting on my shoulder and a bloodcat waiting patiently below, and his eyes grew to the size of dragon eggs. I smiled and waved at him so he would know I was friendly.

The viceroy apparently had met one of the houndsmen before, a flame-haired brute who scowled as soon as the viceroy appeared.

“Hello again,” Melishev said as he reined in behind the thornhands. “Your Hearthfire and hearth are both dead. The city has surrendered. Have you surrendered as well?”

“We have not.”

He craned his neck to look up at me. “Where are their weapons?”

“I made them drop them into the tide.” So the giant was all bluster.

“Perhaps you should rethink not surrendering,” the viceroy said, turning back to him, “considering the odds and the fact that your hounds won’t obey you.” The giant flicked a murderous glare up to me but said nothing. “Tell me your name again.”

“Lanner Burgan. Where is Korda?”

“He died in a terrible accident, I’m afraid. My condolences. So! Lanner. Who’s in charge of your city now? Who speaks for you?”

He spat into the ocean. “I don’t know. We don’t even know who waved those surrender flags.”

“Well. I’ll give you the same deal I’m going to give them: you can get on those glass boats and sail the fuck away from Ghurana Nent, or I have all these archers who are just itching to bring down a giant. You choose.”

His eyes flicked to the giant with threaded mustaches standing next to him, indicating that perhaps he wasn’t the actual leader here, but then he scoffed. “Let me know who’s in charge in the city and what they say. Then I’ll give you my answer.”

A play for time. The viceroy craned his neck to look up at me. “Are you okay with standing guard a while longer?”

“I think the thornhands will do just fine, along with the kherns. Neither they nor the hounds will move until I say so. I’ll come with you.” Melishev didn’t look pleased by that, but he could hardly cast any doubt on my abilities thus far. I needed to stay close to him so that he couldn’t give an order to have me meet with an unfortunate accident. And besides, I wanted to see the inside of this Hathrim city and talk to the Raelech, so I hopped down, realizing too late that normal people don’t hop off the backs of kherns. The bard was waiting.

“I’m Fintan, Bard of the Poet Goddess Kaelin,” he said. “And you are?”

“Abhinava Khose. A plaguebringer…of the Sixth Kenning, I guess.”

“Plaguebringer! Fascinating. I do hope we get to talk more.”

“I’d be delighted. This stalk hawk is Eep, and this bloodcat is Murr.”

We followed the viceroy and tactician into the “city,” which was nothing more than a wall surrounding a bunch of tents and fire pits and a very large well. There were, to be fair, a couple of buildings under construction: a forge, no doubt, and perhaps a public house. Still, it had potential as a city site now—a Nentian one. We could benefit from those walls and the well, too.

The mass of Hathrim had collected against the walls nearest the harbor gates, away from where the Fornish had launched those exploding gourds full of spores. Some of them were prone and coughing up blood anyway, loud racking heaves that sounded like imminent death.

“Who’s in charge?” Hennedigha called to them. Two women came forward. One was twelve feet tall and had some light armor on but no helmet. She had red hair and might have been attractive if she weren’t so huge. The other was a couple of feet shorter but was completely bald. She had earrings and a brightly colored chain leading from her nose to her ear and wore a shimmering dress of white and orange.

“I am Olet Kanek,” the redhead said, “daughter of Winthir Kanek, Hearthfire of Tharsif, and this is La Mastik, Priestess of the Flame.”

We introduced ourselves, including the Raelech, and then the viceroy asked Olet, “Are you lavaborn?” The priestess would be by default.

“Yes. I’m a firelord.”

“Can you put out that fire on the mountain?”

She looked at the blaze for a few moments and shook her head. “Not by myself. But I can contain it, keep it from spreading.”

“That would be appreciated,” he said. “We’ll let you get to that in a moment. But first, why is a daughter of Winthir Kanek here?”

“I was betrothed to Jerin Mogen.”

“I see. And where is he?”

“Dead. And his parents with him,