When Fangodrel’s first son was born, an exception to the growing curse, the City of Giants had erupted in celebration and song. Yet it was only a few days later that the infant Vod was stolen away by a great black eagle. King Fangodrel had trekked south for years to search for him. While he was away, new Serpents began to crawl out of the mountains and devour Giants. Fangodrel returned eventually to stand against Omagh himself, when the Serpent-Father awoke from his long sleep and fell upon the city. Fangodrel had failed to find his lost son, and he failed to protect the city from Omagh’s wrath. Vod’s father died in battle, impaled by one of Omagh’s great fangs, and the behemoth tore the city to pieces.
Thousands of Uduru had perished in that battle. The race was already dwindling in numbers due to the lack of birthings, but now multitudes were crushed, burned, and devoured by Omagh and his brood. Dahrima had killed Serpents for days on end, and like all the Uduru she learned to skin the beasts and use their black scales for armor. In the end it was Ghaldrim the Golden who saved them all. He gathered the last of the Uduru, some twelve hundred Giants, and led them south into the lands of Men. Ghaldrim was the first to realize that there would be no reclaiming shattered Udurum with such tiny numbers. The Serpent-Father made his nest in the piled ruins, large as a mountain, while Ghaldrim led the Uduru across the mountains into the Desert of Many Thunders.
If Ghaldrim had not led the Giants to assault the gates of Uurz in their desperation, Vod would never have discovered his lost heritage. The Uduru would never have regained their lost King. And Vod would never have marched north to slay the Serpent-Father, in the process altering the shape of the world and giving birth to the Stormlands. Vod later rebuilt Udurum stronger than it had ever been, and he opened its gates to Men.
Dahrima had lain with Vod when he rediscovered his Giant heritage. Soon after their night together, he won rulership of the Uduru from Ghaldrim. She had hoped Vod’s royal seed in her belly would give her the child that she had never been able to conceive. But not even Vod’s magic could quicken her empty womb, and her charms were not great enough to hold his attention for long. Vod loved a human girl; he had even taken the form of a Man to win her hand. Shaira of Shar Dni would bear his strong sons, not Dahrima the Axe.
Vireon had been the proud result of Vod and Shaira’s union . Dahrima understood now that it was all for the best. If she had claimed a child fathered by Vod, he might never have taken Shaira as his Queen. Then Vireon would never have been born to unite the Uduru with their cousins the Udvorg. He might not now wear the crown of Udurum, as well as that of the Udvorg. Vireon was in all ways the Son of Vod, heir to greatness. The King of All Giants.
The greatest honor in Dahrima’s life had been to serve him.
She walked among the mossy stones of the dead city while the sun sank toward the sea. The shadows grew long and she found an arch of pale granite under which she might sleep. There was no sign of creeping bloodshadows, foreign ships, or other threats. She would wait here for the armies of Vireon and Tyro, watching the sea for signs of enemies. She would run and carry news of Zyung’s arrival, should it come before Vireon’s. She was the Giant-King’s eyes in the valley of death.
In the glow of twilight she began a search for wild game among the stones. Instead she found the imprint of a human foot in a bed of orange moss. It was freshly made, and she sensed the odor of Mansweat on the breeze. She could not be sure if there were more than one set of tracks, but she knew now that she was not alone in this forsaken place.
There was no trace of hare, squirrel, or other wildlife among the ruins. It was as if animals avoided this place altogether. Except for the seagulls that came close enough to fish in the delta. The absence of game was not as troubling as the presence of a man, or men, in the dead city.
She lay beneath the arch, pretending to take an early sleep. The sun hovered low above the purpling ocean. Shadows filled the nooks and crevices of the ruins. It was not long before she heard the scrape of a foot upon bare stone. Something climbed a nearby block of granite large as a fisherman’s hut and crouched atop it. Dahrima felt the subtle caress of eyes upon her.
She opened her own eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of her observer: a man-shaped silhouette limned in twilight. It squatted like an ape on its stony perch. A glint of metal or precious stone glimmered below its round head.
She heard shallow breathing now. Smelled the stench of filthy flesh.
Her knuckles tightened about the handle of her knife as the shadow leaped.
The armies of Uurz and Udurum set camp for the night on the plain southwest of the Eastern Flow. The glow of a thousand cook-fires painted the tents in shades of red and orange. The moon cast its silver across the tall grass and the distant ocean. Tyro sat in a folding chair in his royal pavilion drinking yellow wine from Yaskatha. Mendices had taken a cadre of Uurzian soldiers into the cluster of fishing villages to purchase fresh seafood, vegetables, and hearth-baked bread.