“It must be hard to say goodbye to a child forever,” Gar said to Garlon, face somber.
“Oh, they manage to send messages home with the rare travelers who happen by,” Garlon assured him. “The North Country isn’t an absolute waste, and there are caravans of merchants now and then. Even bandits think twice about attacking a hundred well-armed dwarves, or a dozen giants.”
“Or sixty of both together,” Orla amended.
“Amazing,” Alea breathed. “They never told us any of this at home!”
“No, because they wanted you to believe we’re monsters, or at least completely different from you,” Garlon told her. “Of course,” Gar said slowly. “If Midgarders knew that you have children their own size, they’d have to think of you as people, like themselves!”
“Indeed they would.” For a moment, Garlon’s disgust showed, but he hid it quickly. “Then, of course, they’d have no excuse to go on enslaving one another, or driving out the ones who grow too big.” He looked up at Orla. “How was the hunting, daughter?”
“Good enough, Father,” Orla swung a game bag off her shoulder and down to him. “There’s a dozen geese and eight partridges in there, and the other hunters did as well or better.”
Garlon staggered under the weight of the bag, but bore up bravely and turned away. “Come, let us show this bounty to your mothers! Strangers, will you dine with us tonight?”
Alea stared, surprised by the invitation, but Gar said, “We’d be delighted. How kind of you to ask.”
“I think the whole village may feast on the common, Father,” Orla said as she fell in beside him. “Together, we managed to fell an ox, but I’m sure you’ve seen that.”
“I have indeed, and that’s reason enough for feasting tonight,” Garlon puffed. “I’m glad you had a good day.” He beamed up at Orla with pride. “I wondered when you chose Dumi as your goddess when you were so small, but you’ve proved true to her in every way.”
Orla blushed with pleasure, seeming to expand a little with her father’s praise, though he only came up to her bottom rib.
Gar frowned. “Who is DUMI?”
“The goddess of the hunt,” Orla told him. “Don’t you learn of her, in Midgard?”
“No, we don’t,” Alea said. “Tell me of her!”
“Well, she’s a virgin goddess,” Orla said, grinning, “but I don’t intend to imitate her in that, at least not forever. I think I’ll have to go visit relatives in Jotunheim, though.”
“I suppose you will,” Garlon sighed, “but there are half a dozen young men here who are worthy of you, Orla, hard though it is for me to admit it.”
Gar smiled. “I thought no father ever thought any man was good enough for his daughter.”
“Well, I do have to strive to keep an open mind,” Garlon admitted.
“All the young men here are very nice,” Orla sighed, “but none of them makes my heart beat any faster.”
Alea stared at her. “What has that to do with marriage?” Orla stared back. Then her face darkened with anger. “By the goddess! Those Midgarders only give you a choice between two kinds of slavery, don’t they?”
Gar said quickly, “Do I take it that a woman can live with respect and comfort here even if she doesn’t marry?”
“Of course!” Garlon said in surprise. “What loving father would make his daughter marry a man she doesn’t love, just to have a living?”
“True,” Alea said bitterly, “but if that is so, Midgard is filled with unloving fathers.” She sent up a prayer of thanks to Freya that she had not been so cursed.
Garlon scowled, but before he could say anything, they came out between two houses to the village green. Giants were clustered around with a liberal sprinkling of smaller people, watching two huge young men wrestling, stripped to the waist and shiny with sweat.
Orla slowed, her eye gleaming. “Let’s watch for a little while, Father.”
“Why, as you wish, child,” Garlon said, giving her a sly look.
They moved onto the grass and stopped twenty feet from the wrestlers. Alea saw why Orla was interested—even she felt a tremor of response inside her at the sight of those huge muscles sliding beneath burnished skin, even though the men were blocky and lumpy by her own standards. She found it interesting that they had very little body hair, even though they had thick and luxuriant beards. Perhaps they shaved… Gar watched with great interest as the two men grappled, then sprang apart, panting, then sprang together again. Suddenly one giant went shooting up into the air, sailed back, and landed with an impact that shook the ground. The crowd made noises of approval, but Gar almost shouted with delight. “Well thrown! Deftly done!”
The thrown rolled and rose up, but the victor turned to Gar with a grin. “Many thanks, little man. I’m surprised you could see what I did. I didn’t know Midgard paid any attention to wrestling.”
“I’m not your average Midgarder,” Gar told him.
“Then perhaps you’d like to try a fall or two,” the young giant said.
A slow grin spread over Gar’s face. Alea turned to him in a panic, but before she could say anything, he had stepped forward, casting away his cloak and slipping out of his tunic. “Why, thank you! I’d love the exercise. What are your rules?”
10
For one, we don’t allow people like young Skorag to wrestle when there’s so great a difference in size!” Garlon protested, hurrying forward.
“Difference in size? I’m only nine feet tall, Goodman GarIon, and your guest must be seven!” the young giant protested.
“Seven, and a few years older and more experienced than you,” Gar told him. He stepped close and dropped into a wrestler’s crouch. “Someone say ‘go.’ ”
“Go!” rumbled a dozen voices.
“Orla, stop them!” Alea cried. “Gar will be squashed!”
“What can we do, when the young bucks are so determined to impress us?” Orla sighed.
Alea turned to stare. Could that really be what was pushing Gar into this fight? But why would he want to impress her? Skorag shouted and slapped at Gar—and the smaller man swung in to tangle the giant’s legs somehow. Skorag lurched forward; Gar pulled on an arm, and the young giant fell.
The crowd shouted with delight and surprise. Other giants stopped what they were doing to look up, then came to see what was going on.
Skorag climbed to his feet with a savage grin. “Not bad, little fellow! First fall to you—but I’ll take the second.”
“Toss me if you can,” Gar taunted. Skorag did. Alea didn’t see exactly how—she only saw Gar cartwheeling up into the sky, and cried out in fright.
Orla’s arm clasped her shoulders. “Don’t fear, little sister. They…”
Laughing, Skorag caught Gar as though he were a baby, then tumbled him to the ground. “You were lucky the first time, stranger!”
Gar rolled to his feet—right under Skorag, as the giant bent into his wrestler’s crouch. Gar turned his back, seized Skorag’s forearm, and pulled the giant down on top of him—except that somehow he stayed on his feet, and Skorag went tumbling.
“Lucky twice,” Gar noted.
Skorag grunted with surprise and climbed back up. “There must be some skill in you, I’ll grant you that!”
“Your turn,” Gar said.
Skorag slapped at him, yanked his arm away from an attempted grab, caught a knee with the other arm and tossed Gar into the air. Alea cried out again, pressing tight against Orla’s side, but Gar seemed to bounce to his feet, grinning. “Neatly done! Have you thought of trying this?” He swung both hands down on the other’s shoulders, pushing hard, leaping into the air—but Skorag swept a hand up to push Gar’s heels high, laughing. Gar landed on his back, but somehow he still had hold of Skorag’s hand, and the giant’s laugh turned into a grunt of surprise as he went flying over Gar, balanced on the smaller man’s heels, to somersault ten feet past Gar’s head.