Chapter 4
Kroth led the orcish horde across the land, following Djoland's trail. The warriors rode on fearsome grizzly bear mounts or simply stalked the countryside on foot, untiring and unwavering in their goal. Djoland's abandonment of his clan did not sit well with his former sword-brothers and many bristled with anger and resentment. But they knew that with the traitor's death, their chieftain would be granted his desired indulgence by the high priests. His place among the ancestors in the next world would be secured.
At last, they approached the extinct volcano where the giants made their home. Kroth turned to his best tracker, a stoic old hunter in a tattered hood named Alvar.
“Well, man, what is it to be?” the chieftain said. “Must we take on a city of giants to find our quarry?” Kroth shuddered at the thought. His warriors were formidable but he doubted even they could survive such an ordeal.
Alvar held fast to the leashes of his barghest hunting-hounds. The massive black devil-dogs, full as large as young colts, growled deep in their throats and sniffed the air. They had learned Djoland's scent from a scrap of one of his old tunics and now sought for signs of his presence. Searching red eyes flamed brightly and the earth was scorched where the beasts' acidic slaver struck the ground. But they showed no interest in the mountain.
“He is not here, my lord,” said Alvar.
“Not here?!” Kroth raged. “After we came all this way? Where is that scout? I'll flay him alive! I'll – I'll have his guts for a belt!!” The chieftain tried to think of other suitably orcish phrases but he was tired and his heart just wasn't in it.
“Do not blame the scout, war-leader,” Alvar continued. “Djoland WAS here, but has now departed.”
“On the move again, eh? Well, he can't have gotten far,” Kroth reasoned. He stalked about, eying the surrounding hills and forests suspiciously. “Amot! Ready the troops! Once we pick up the trail, we'll continue the – GRAAAHHHH!!!!!”
Kroth's sentence died in a sudden howl for the chieftain had fallen into a depression in the earth. Picking himself back up, he waved off Amot's hurried attempts to help him and regarded the shape of the hole and the mysterious pattern at its base.
“Forefathers preserve us...” he muttered. “This is a footprint, unless I miss my guess.”
“Look, sir!” a young orc called from the trail ahead. “More of them!”
“Then it seems Djoland does not travel alone...” Kroth scratched his chin thoughtfully. Fighting a city of giants was a fool's errand. But fighting a single giant? Yes, he was fairly certain his men could do that.
***
Raquel followed the main roads of Hayone, weaving carefully between human settlements. The ground shook and rumbled with her passing, sending many of the towns' inhabitants to flee for shelter or leap to arms, fearing attack. When the people caught sight of the fiery red hair and those piercing violet eyes high above them, however, they recognized the giant that had helped defend them in times of war. Though still wary, some of the little humans stopped to wave to her or give a grateful salute.
Raquel had quite been enjoying the journey. Djoland sat upon her shoulder, chatting with her as they traveled and telling her all about orcish culture (such as it was). A trunk full of weapons, the orc's only worldly possessions, was stowed safely in a pocket of her tunic. The giantess found that she was beginning to like this strange, little outcast orc and she felt a certain kinship with his misfit status. Djoland, for his part, was warming to his giant companion as well, though not without some hesitancy.
Perched close to her neck, the orc had to admit it was...unsettling to be so close to a throat that had nearly swallowed him. And carrying on a conversation with the creature who'd almost done it was surreal, to say the least. Still, huge and imposing as she might be, Raquel was also pleasant in her way. If she were a bit greener of hue or had sharper teeth, he might almost find her attractive.
The only one of sour spirits was Pixis. He did not trust the orc and thought the beast should be slain at once or at least parted from their company. Still sequestered in Raquel's bosom, the elf periodically popped his head up into the light to voice his displeasure.
“You're making a grave error, darling,” he insisted. “Exile or not, traveling with an orc will bring us only trouble.”
“Your opinion is duly noted, Pix,” Raquel answered, using her finger to plunge him back down her cleavage once more. After a few altercations like this, Pixis eventually gave up and remained within her bodice, sulking. In time, the gentle bobbing motion of her chest as she walked began to lull the elf into a deep sleep.
Several giant-sized strides later (which Djoland estimated must have covered the length of the surrounding peasant farms), Raquel noticed that the road ahead was occupied. A few paces before their position, a group of men stood clustered about. They looked like ants from the giantess' height but with a curious squint, she tried to make out some of the finer details of their appearance. The dark hair and uniform of one in particular had caught her eye.
“Claude!” she cried excitedly.
“You know him?” asked Djoland.
“Aye,” said his giant host. “He's a friend.”
The orc shielded his eyes and tried to get a better look at the man. “Right surly lookin' fella, isn't he?”
“He can be a little...severe,” Raquel allowed. “Used to be part of a pro-human militia, the Stormgavair, until he had a falling out with his superiors. And met me, of course.”
“You do have quite an effect on people,” Djoland said.
Raquel squinted again and took another look at the little humans. “I don't recognize the others.”
The men said something to Claude that was lost to the distance and the rushing wind. But their point was clear when moments later, the three of them drew pistols and aimed them right at Claude.
“Oh.” Raquel covered her mouth in surprise.
“Think we should stop 'em?” Djoland was already trying to work out the best route down the curvy tower of the giantess's form to reach the ground.
“Actually...” said Raquel, smiling, “let's see how this plays out for a moment.”
At ground level a few (giant) paces ahead, the trio of robbers repeated their demands. Claude stood as still as a statue, impassive and unimpressed.
“Are ye deaf, boy?” the ring leader growled. “This road is ours. If'n ye want to pass, ye'll have to pay the toll.”
“This road belongs to King Tillinghast,” Claude informed him. “You are illegally extorting his citizens. Plus, I don't much like your face. It's off-putting.”
The robber king grimaced and his men cocked their weapons.
“Honestly, I may vomit,” Claude continued. “Were you born like that or did you lose a bar fight or something?”
“Kill him, lads!” the leader barked.
As the first shots were fired, Claude was already dropping to the ground, the bullets whizzing over his head harmlessly. A moment later, he had sprung back to his feet and grabbed hold of a robber's arm, twisting it back painfully and snatching his gun. The man cried out in pain and surprise. The second robber, though bewildered, had already trained his gunsight on this upstart enemy. But Claude had pulled the first man in front of him, with an arm around the robber's neck, and had him positioned as a human shield. He let loose several shots from the robber's gun, catching the second man in the leg. His opponent howled out a curse and collapsed onto the road in agony, blood gushing over the dirt.
Infuriated, the robber king drew his own weapon and fired a volley at Claude, caring little if he hit his henchman in the process. Claude simply released his hostage and flung the man at his captain like a sack of potatoes. In moments, they had both doubled over, though not before a bullet grazed the younger robber's shoulder. He screamed in pain but the leader simply shoved him away impatiently. He was fighting his way back to his feet when Claude kicked him square in the head.
The older man's head shot back with a crack and he fell to the road. His temple was bleeding and stars filled his vision but the robber king refused to go down so easily. He was fumbling for his pistol when Claude placed a booted foot on his chest, pinning him down.
“Yield,” he said calmly.
“Never!” the captain raged. At this, he spat directly in Claude's eye.
“Impeccable aim,” Claude muttered, unfazed. “But you are beaten.”
“To me, lads! Kill the damn bastard!” the captain declared.
“Screw this!” his minions answered. The pair of them were already crawling or hobbling away as best they could. One nursed a gash on his shoulder and the other limped pathetically, dragging a now useless leg, hastily bound by a scrap of his shirt. They were wounded and demoralized and, truth be told, had never particularly liked their captain anyway. Come to think of it, his face WAS rather off-putting. Downright ugly, in fact. They wondered why they hadn't seen it before.
The pair of thieves was pondering this when they realized that the afternoon shadows had deepened considerably. There was also a strange, leather-colored boulder right in their path when before, the road had been clear.
“Why, Claude,” Raquel boomed from the sky, after placing her booted foot just before the two fleeing robbers. “You've brought me a snack! How thoughtful!”
The giantess bent down and reached a huge hand towards the horrified men. Trunk-like fingers curled around their torsos and held them in a vice-hard grip. Before they knew it, they were airborne, being lifted up to the giant woman's massive face.
Raquel's tongue slid across her huge, red lips as she regarded her catch. “Hmm. A little scrawny but they'll suffice.” She opened her mouth wide and brought the robbers towards its vast, cave-like entrance.
The men shrieked in terror and squirmed in her grasp. “AHHHHH!!!! Have mercy! Oh God, no!”
Raquel slammed her teeth shut mere inches from the robbers' faces. She let them contemplate their reflections in the shiny surface of her molars before pulling them away from her face. “Mercy, eh? Welllllll... all right. But know you this – these lands are protected. By men like my friend down there and by people like me. We catch you robbing citizens again and this...” With her free hand, Raquel patted her belly. “...will be your jail cell. Get me?”
Wide-eyed, the thieves nodded fearfully. The giantess set them back on the ground in a heap and nudged them with her foot. “Now, beat it, little men!” Needing no further prompting, the robbers bolted for the hills.
Djoland stared at her with a sideways glance. “Would you have really...?”
“What, eat them?” Raquel asked. “Eww, no! But after your little mishap in my mashed potatoes, I guess it was just on my mind. Sure put the fear of God into them, didn't it?”
“Or goddess,” said the orc, once again in awe of his towering companion.
As soon as their foes were gone, Raquel knelt down to greet Claude more properly. The bold soldier was busy binding the wrists of the robber captain. “You let them go. Should have allowed me to arrest them as well,” Claude said.
“Let them scurry back to their buddies and spread the word that this part of Hayone is defended,” she answered. “By the way, it's wonderful to see you again, Claude.”
“And you, Raquel,” he told her, stepping into her offered palm. The giantess lifted him to eye level and Claude did a double take at the stranger perched on her shoulder.
“Claude, Djoland. Djoland, Claude,” Raquel said. Claude tensed at the sight of the orc and resisted reaching for his revolver. His Stormgavair conditioning still affected him now and then but since meeting Raquel, he'd learned to live by a different set of rules.
“I trust there's a story behind this,” Claude commented.
“A good one,” the giantess insisted. “But first, let's go find Tillinghast and turn Mr. Personality here...” She nudged the robber king with her index finger. “...over to the city guards.”
* * *
A short time later, Raquel and her little friends had made their way to the palace of King Tillinghast. They found the aging monarch speaking with an important guest out on an upper floor balcony. The second man, a powerful emperor from a nearby land, was in negotiations with Tillinghast. The king desired an alliance between their peoples.
“I tell you, if our kingdoms join together with the elf realm of Argena,” Tillinghast said, “the world will be that much safer. We need not fear devastation like the Stormgavair unleashed or further trouble from the orcish raiding parties.”
“I don't know, Tillinghast,” the emperor mused. “I have the finest airship armada in Hayone. We've always been able to defend our own well enough.”
Raquel sidled up to the castle and rested an elbow on the balcony, leaning over the two tiny men. The emperor gave a startled cry as the huge wall of her arm came down a few feet from his chair.
“Forgive the intrusion, your majesty,” she said. “I didn't realize you were entertaining.”
Tillinghast's face lit up at once. “Raquel! How lovely to see you!”
“You...you know this titan?” the emperor breathed in fright. His expression soon changed to anger. “So! Trying to scare me, Tillinghast? Seeking to strong arm me into this treaty, are you?!”
“W-What?” the king babbled. “Heavens, no, I--”
“Hrrm,” Djoland grunted from the giant woman's shoulder, where he sat beside Claude. “Raquel, this may not be the best time...”
* * *
Meanwhile, on a high hilltop, a one-eyed man watched the flame-haired giantess in the distance through a telescope. His lip curled into a smile when he saw the figure sitting upon her shoulder.
“That's our orc, I'd bet my life on it,” Lee told his fellow bounty hunters. “He travels with a giant, does he? Lads...I think this mission just got interesting.”
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
Chapter 4 by Pixis