The wolves came to the pool in the early evening. The sun had sunk below the mountain tops, leaving the valley bottom in a dusky light, but with a bright blue sky overhead.
The creatures were mildly hesitant as they inched to the water’s edge, and lapped from it. After few moments of pacing back and forth, one of them came splashing across the narrow end of the pool. Once on the companions’ side of it, the animal fiercely shook itself dry. His pack mates quickly followed. They didn’t seem to fear Vaegon’s fire, and it took only a few minutes for the bravest one to inch up to Hyden and sit down.
Hyden, trembling with a mixture of more excitement than fear, let the wolf sniff at him. The wolf’s head was twice as wide as a man’s, and its fangs were the size of a child’s fingers. He was sitting on a big knee-high rock, and still the wolf’s head was higher than his own. When he tentatively reached up to scratch the pack leader behind its ears, he found it was like putting his arm around an old friend’s shoulders. The huge wolf leaned in, nuzzled him, and gave his cheek a lick with its damp, sandy tongue. Its fur was thick enough to lose a hand in.
After a few minutes of ear scratching, the wolf eased away, then stretched out its fore paws and lay out on its belly. The others of the pack weren’t as ready to make friends yet. They paced anxiously about, or laid down a safe distance from the campfire.
All of the wolves, save for the pack-leader, jumped to their feet when a not-so-distant whistle erupted from the woods. The pack-leader only raised his huge head, and tilted it curiously. About half of the pack re-crossed the stream and darted into the forest after the sound. The others grew excited; their pacing became restless in anticipation of their chosen master’s coming.
Borg was the first out of the trees. Mikahl found that he had to look up from where his eyes had expected a head to appear. The Southern Guardian was more than twice the size of a man, and the sight of him standing erect, instead of hunched down in a cavern was startling.
He wore the same dark elk-hide shirt and patch-worked britches as he had before. His similarly patch-worked vest coat was open, displaying the big Dread Wolf skull belt buckle he wore like a trophy. His long, silver-black hair and beard wavered in the breeze. He leaned his weight on his tree trunk staff and stepped across the stream in a single stride to join them. As he approached, his dark eyes moved under a heavy brow, from face to face, nodding respectfully to each of them. He could tell instantly that something was amiss.
“Where’s Loudin?” he asked.
“He’s dead,” Mikahl answered, sadly. “I apologize, but I’d rather only tell the tale once, so I’ll wait to tell it. The bark lizard skin is yours, my friend. I’m sure Loudin would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Borg’s head lowered, and he mumbled something that might have been a prayer, but sounded suspiciously like, “Not for free he wouldn’t have.”
Then, he threw a fat leather bag to the ground at Mikahl’s feet. It was loosely tied, and the mouth of it had fallen open. Inside, was a chunk of raw gold, as big as Mikahl’s fist, and there were a few smaller pieces as well.
“I’m sure that he would’ve wanted you to have that,” Borg said, in a way that left no room for argument.
Just then, the other male giant stepped from the trees, and the group all stood to greet him.
With a rap of his staff, and a sweep of his arm, Borg spoke in a deep, resounding voice.
“May I present King Colossi Aldar, Master of Peaks and Valleys, Lord of Afdeon, ruler of these mountains and all who call them home. The pillar of our –”
“Enough, Borg,” King Aldar interrupted, with a shake of his head. “I get enough of that bunkum at home.”
He absently patted at the two wolves that were prancing at his feet. Another joined them, wagging not just its tail, but its whole body as it vied for the Giant King’s attention.
King Aldar was a full head taller than Borg, but looked much the same. His long hair and beard held quite a bit more silver and gray than the Southern Guardian’s, but his sapphire eyes were not as deeply set. His clothes, while being skins, and made of a similar cut to Borg’s, were far better tailored, and all made from the same animal, so that they didn’t appeared to be patched together.
His staff was made of bone or ivory. Unlike Borg’s, it was no weapon. Its base was shod in silver. Its shaft was carved into a flow of leafy vines, and its head was shaped into a great white wolf. Amber jewels glittered in the eyes of the carved beast, and lent it the unsettling quality of appearing to watch everyone around the King of Giants.
Where Borg’s face was dominated by a huge forehead, King Aldar’s wide, but sharp nose drew the eye. He was wrinkled and old, ancient most likely, but still fit. Wisdom oozed from him like fragrances in a flower garden.