A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings #1) - Kevin Hearne Page 0,86

show them in, offer them tiny little chairs to sit in.”

Dhingra snorted. “It shall be as you say.”

“And make sure there’s a couple of squads of men in there with crossbows.”

“Oh, yes, they’re already waiting for you.”

And so they are: twelve leather-faced and ornery men on either side of the throne, a dozen for each giant. Dhingra knows how I like things done. Incredibly, even with the stink of soldiers lining the walls, the floral scent of the Fornish ambassador still lurks in the reception hall. And when the Hathrim duck through the double doors at the other end, their heads scraping against the ceiling and then the skylight, I can see their massive nostrils twitch at the smell. Their eyes dart uncertainly among the crossbowmen, wondering which one of them might be responsible for the perfume.

The planks of the floor groan under their heavy booted feet, and Dhingra, true to his word, comically offers them simple wooden chairs that would instantly splinter to kindling if they sat on them. They look down at him in disbelief, wondering if he’s joking, but he keeps a magnificent straight face and so do I when they turn to me.

“Thank you, no,” one says, and the floorboards squeak in protest when they take one knee in front of me and still remain taller than anyone in the room. They both have large, bushy beards, one blond and one red, and eyes as blue as the famous waters of Crystal Pond upriver. They look half wild and disheveled, though I discern after speaking with them that this is probably intentional. They are doing their best to look desperate and in need.

The blond one’s cheeks are flushed and fat, and he might have eaten four whole hogs for breakfast. He introduces himself as Korda Belik and does all the talking; the red beard just nods and tries to look somber while his companion spins a story.

“Thank you, Viceroy, for seeing us,” Korda says. His Nentian is accented but perfectly understandable. “I won’t waste your time. You may have heard already about the eruption of Mount Thayil. Most of Harthrad died within the first hour, and hot molten rain and ash fell out of the sky to the south, forcing the few of us who could make it to boats to head north and land in the safest place we could think of: Ghurana Nent. We now throw ourselves upon your mercy and your famous generosity, hoping you will allow us time to regroup and perhaps aid us with a shipment of grains so that we may not starve.”

I stare at him, astounded at his gall. I let the silence lengthen until he clears his throat, uncomfortable.

“I have questions, Korda,” I said. “And I want you to answer as quickly as possible. Just facts. No embellishing.”

“Understood.”

“I am saddened to hear about the loss of so many Hathrim, but I know not how to gauge the depth of this tragedy. You said your numbers are few. How many of you, precisely, are now occupying my land?”

“I cannot give you a precise number—”

“Then give me your best estimate. Give or take a hundred, I won’t mind.”

“Viceroy, I was sent here instantly by Hearthfire Gorin Mogen upon our nighttime landing, and we had no time to count heads before I left.”

What a pile of yak shit. “I will need a number if I am to estimate how much grain to ship you, Korda.”

That traps him. “Say a thousand, then, Viceroy, though that is most certainly high.” The red beard nods vigorously.

That means that number is most certainly very low. Hundreds of starving giants sounds manageable. Thousands of giants sounds like a recipe for panic, and they do not want me to panic yet.

“Very well. And where am I sending this grain?”

“The southern edge of your coast, just north of the Fornish border. We were too exhausted to travel any farther, and we also had no wish to alarm your citizens with our sudden appearance.”

I give him a cheerless smile. “My thanks. And how long does Gorin Mogen plan to stay in my country with his thousand giants, Korda?”

“Just until the ash clears away and we can safely return to Hathrir. I believe all the cities are suffering now.”

“Again, help me with a number. How long?”

He shrugs massive shoulders. “Two months, perhaps three.”

“Two months should suffice for the dust to settle. So two months’ grain for a thousand giants, is that correct?”

“Yes, Viceroy.”

“Dhingra, I will want to discuss the specifics