Forest Kingdom Trilogy 3 - Down Among the Dead Men

tunnel from her upraised hands and struck the giant in the face. It screamed shrilly as the blazing heat burned away its face, leaving only charred bone and empty eye sockets. It dropped MacNeil and the Dancer and pawed feebly at its ruined head. The Dancer shifted his sword to his left hand, stepped forward, and cut the giant’s throat. Thick purple blood gushed out onto the tunnel floor, and the giant collapsed and lay twitching in its own gore. Behind it, another crawling giant tore at its flesh and began to pull itself past the unmoving body, still searching for prey.
    MacNeil snatched up his sword, and he and the Dancer retreated back to the steps. Constance still held the stance of summoning, a pure white force crackling between her hands. Flint stood at her side, sword at the ready. They stood guard as MacNeil and the Dancer pulled themselves exhaustedly up the stairs and out into the cellar. Flint went up next, and finally Constance lowered her hands and the fire went out. She scrambled up the steps and out into the cellar. MacNeil slammed the trapdoor shut after her and pushed home both the bolts. Barely a second later the trapdoor shuddered violently as a giant fist beat furiously against it from below. The hammering continued for several minutes while MacNeil and the others watched anxiously, and then it stopped, leaving only an echoing silence.
    Constance sat down suddenly, as though all the strength had gone out of her. MacNeil leaned on his sword and concentrated on getting his breathing back to normal. He realized he was still clinging desperately to his lantern, and put it down on the floor beside him. His hands were trembling now that the action was over, and not only from fatigue. Giants in the earth … perhaps that was what had happened to all the bodies. His mind’s eye showed him an army of crawling giants struggling up through the trapdoor, stealing the bodies and then dragging them back down to the secret places of the earth. He swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it. His hands and his breathing had steadied, and he looked cautiously at the others to see if they’d noticed his momentary weakness. Flint and the Dancer were sitting side by side. The Dancer was trying to clean his sword one-handed while Flint massaged some feeling back into the arm the giant had crushed. Constance was kneeling beside the trapdoor, staring at it worriedly.
    “What’s the matter?” asked MacNeil. “The trapdoor will keep the giants out. Won’t it?”
    “That’s the point,” said Constance slowly. “As far as I can See, the giants aren’t there anymore. They’ve just … gone. Vanished.”
    MacNeil looked at the trapdoor and then at the witch. “Just how dependable is your Sight at the moment?”
    “Not very. It comes and goes, and calling up balefire for you weakened my magic considerably. But I’m sure about this, Duncan. There’s nothing down there now. Nothing at all.”
    “That’s impossible,” said MacNeil. “Those giants were flesh and blood, not ghosts.”
    “The one I hit was very much alive,” said the Dancer. “I’ve still got most of its blood all over me.”
    Flint smiled fondly at him. “Your biggest bag yet. You should have brought the body back with you. We could have had it stuffed.”
    “I’ll remember next time,” said the Dancer.
    “There’s nothing down there now,” insisted Constance. “There’s no trace of the giants at all. Open the trapdoor and you’ll see I’m right.”
    They all looked at one another, but nobody said anything. Finally MacNeil hefted his sword and shrugged unhappily.
    “All right, dammit, let’s take a look. Everyone stand ready. Same procedure as before; if it moves, kill it.”
    The Dancer rose to his feet in a single lithe movement, the cleaning rag gone from his hand and his sword at the ready. Flint got to her feet a little more slowly and gave him a wry smile.
    “Show off.”
    Constance got up and moved back from the trapdoor, scowling worriedly. MacNeil hesitated and looked thoughtfully at the witch.
    “Can you call up that balefire again?”
    “No. Just using it once drained most of my strength. I’m a witch, not a sorceress, and I know my limitations.”
    MacNeil nodded and bent over the trapdoor. He stood listening for a moment, but couldn’t hear anything moving down in the tunnel. He hefted his sword, took a deep breath, and pulled back the two bolts. Everything was quiet. He braced himself, heaved the trapdoor