He had little doubt but what the rider was looking for him.
The lantern cast an unsteady, flickering, moving pool of light, some four or five yards in diameter.
The giant watched, patiently.
He chewed a little meat from the bag.
Something, too, the giant noted, might accompany the rider. It was hard to tell in the light.
The giant finished the meat, and tied shut the bag. There seemed to be a small figure, heavily bundled, on the left side of the horse, trudging in the snow.
The lantern was quite close now.
Surely the rider must see him, as he crouched in the snow.
The lantern lifted.
The giant did not move.
Suddenly there was a woman’s scream.
He did not move.
“It is a dog!” screamed a woman. “It is a dog!” She spun away from the stirrup, turning, frightened, to run, but, choking, weeping, in a moment, was held up short, by the tether on her neck.
“Greetings,” said the rider.
“Greetings,” said the giant, rising up.
He stood then, like some unusual creature, bipedalian, but canine, in the light of the lamp.
The rider, with one hand, not taking his eyes from the giant, slowly unlooped the tether, which had been wound some four or five times about the pommel of the saddle.
He dropped it into the snow.
The woman’s hands were not bound. She backed away, into the darkness, the tether on her neck.
“Do not attack me,” said the rider.
It was the older Herul, who had been his keeper, or warden, in the wagon of Mujiin.
The giant did not move.
“Two of the dogs returned,” said the Herul. “In the camp it is thought you are dead.”
“But you did not think so?”
“I did not know,” said the Herul.
“It was clever of you,” said the Herul, “to let the dogs return.”
The giant shrugged.
It would have been possible, though dangerous, to kill them in their feeding frenzy.
Too, he had been cold, and miserable.
“How did you arm yourself?” asked the Herul.
“With ice,” said the giant, “a weapon formed thereof, frozen, from snow, heated in my mouth, and a fluid of my body.”
“It is an old Herul trick,” said the Herul, approvingly.
“It is known in the festung village of Sim Giadini,” said the giant.
“I had thought it might be,” said the Herul.
“You have sought me,” said the giant.
“Yes,” said the Herul.
“Why?” asked the giant.
“I mean you no harm,” said the Herul. “You have escaped the dogs.”
“Why have you sought me?” asked the giant.
“I have brought you your sword, the great blade, and a Herul knife, some food, and the pelt of the giant white vi-cat, which I have had prepared for you.”
The Herul loosened from across his back the great blade, now in a fur sheath, and dropped it, with its belt, to the snow, to the right side of the horse. He put with it, one object after the other, a smaller object, doubtless the knife, a dark bag, which might contain food, and then, folded, what must be the pelt of the vi-cat.
“Why are you doing this?” asked the giant.
“The pelt,” said the Herul, “is that of the giant white vi-cat. Among the Vandals it is understood as the robe of a king.”
“Perhaps that is why,” said the giant, “that the two Basungs crossed the Lothar, to obtain such a robe.”
“Doubtless,” said the Herul.
The two Basungs, those who had drawn the sledge to the Herul camp, had been killed.
“Why do you give it to me?” asked the giant.
“It was you who killed the beast,” said the Herul. “It is thus yours.”
“Why do you return to me the sword, why give me these things?”
“It does not matter,” said the Herul.
“Why?” asked the giant.
“The Heruls grow fat, and slack,” said the Herul. “They need splendid enemies.”
“I do not understand.”
“It does not matter,” said the Herul.
“I thank you for these gifts,” said the giant.
“The woman whom I brought with me,” said the Herul, “will have fled by now.”
“She was a slave?”
“Yes.”
“She may be easily followed in the snow,” said the giant, “thence to be recaptured, thence to be beaten, or to have her feet cut off, or be fed to dogs.”
“I shall leave such decisions to you,” said the Herul.
“I do not understand,” said the giant.
“She thought herself brought with me, late at night, in the cold, to perform the services of the slave female, to cook, to lie at my feet, to warm them, to give pleasure with her body, her lips and tongue, and such. It is common on journeys to bring slaves, for such things.”
“But you brought her here, to let her escape?”
“Of course,” said the Herul.
“When you freed her of the pommel, she doubtless thought it merely to free the horse of its impediment, to prepare for combat with me, taken as your quarry.”
“That was my intention, that she should think so.”
“But she is now fled.”
“But should not be difficult to follow, in the snow.”
“No,” said the giant.
“Do you know where you are?” asked the Herul.
“No,” said the giant.
“You are within two days journey of the forests of the Otungs,” said the Herul. “It was at my request that Mujiin brought the wagons here.”
“Does the slave know where she is?”
“Certainly,” said the Herul.
“I do not know the way to the Otungs,” said the giant.
“She will know the way,” said the Herul.
“Then I need only follow her,” said the giant.
“That was my intention,” said the Herul.
“Why have you shown me these kindnesses?’’ asked the giant.
“I am old now,” said the Herul. “And I must be killed one day. I think I would like to be killed by you.”
“I have no quarrel with you,” said the giant.
“But we are enemies, the Heruls, and the Otungs.”
“I am a peasant, from the festung village of Sim Giadini,” said the giant.
“No,” said the Herul. “You are an Otung.”
“I do not know that I am an Otung,” said the giant.
“You are Otung,” said the Herul.
“I do not know who I am,” said the giant.
“That is true,” said the Herul. “You do not know who you are.”
“What is the name of the slave?” asked the giant.
“It is she whom you know,” said the Herul.
“Yata?”
“Yes.”
“The night is clear,” said the giant. “I will follow her in the morning.”
“Do not let her know she is being followed.”
“No,” said the giant.
“By the way,” said the Herul, “she is a camp slave. We thought that might be useful, she once the daughter of an Otung noble, to help her understand, particularly at the beginning, the nature of her new condition, that of slave.”
“What is the nature of the camp slave?” asked the giant.
“She is the common property of the camp,” said the Herul. “She must beg and give pleasure before she is fed. She may be disposed of, in any fashion, by anyone in the camp, such things.’’
“I see,” said the giant.
“I give her to you,” said the Herul.
“A runaway slave?”
“Yes.”
“My thanks,” said the giant.
“It is nothing,” said the Herul.
“And, in any case,” said the giant, “she would be subject to claimancy.”
“I see that you have thought on the matter,” said the Herul.
“Yes,” said the giant.