He slumped, feeling the strength flowing out of him, somewhere distantly realized with mild surprise that this was the end.

Fidele . . .

His body jerked suddenly, shook like a straw doll, then the grip around his throat was gone and he was choking, sucking in great, ragged breaths. Behind him a man screamed.

The warrior gripping his ankles stared up at him, then let go and reached for a sword.

Too late.

Maquin kicked him in the face, pulled his last knife from his boot and stabbed the man through the eye. He spasmed, legs kicking, then went slack.

Maquin rolled over, saw the warrior who had almost killed him caught by the giantess. She’d wrapped the length of her chain about his throat and was pulling tight. The man’s face was a grey-purple explosion of veins, bulging eyes and swelling tongue. There was a popping sound, vertebrae in his neck snapping, and his head suddenly lolled, eyes glazing. The giantess continued to pull, muscles bulging, rippling along her forearms like snakes in a sack. With a tearing sound Maquin saw the flesh about the chain begin to fray, then tear, blood seeping, then exploding in a violent jet as the giantess gave one last savage wrench and the man’s head ripped free.

She stepped away, her eyes fixed on Maquin, letting the Vin Thalun’s corpse flop to the ground, and sitting beside her son, who gripped her hand tightly.

Maquin backed away, picked up his sword, still watching the giants, then headed for the tower doorway, stopping to retrieve his knives on the way.

Alben stepped into the room. Blood sheeted his forehead and his sword was red to the hilt. ‘The giants?’

‘Still alive.’ Maquin pointed to the shadows beneath the stairwell.

They stood and stared a long while at the giants, who returned their gaze with wariness.

She saved my life. The thought left Maquin feeling uncomfortable. But then, I saved hers. She was still bleeding from her wounds.

Alben offered her a flask of water.

‘Drink, and clean your wounds,’ Alben said. The giantess stared unblinking back at him. Alben tried again. ‘Deach agus glan do gortuithe.’

Giantish.

The giantess frowned, then reached out and took the water skin. She sniffed it, took a tentative sip, then gave it to her bairn. He took a deep drink, then poured water over his mother’s wounds, washing the blood away.

‘I can tend your wounds, bind them for you,’ Alben said.

‘Cad ba mhaite leat?’ the giantess said. Her lips twisted in a sneer.

‘Me troid ar son an realta geal. Sbhilt anois. Ach ni feidir liom a leagtar t’ saor in aisce – mo namhaid stor. Ni mor duit teacht liom,’ Alben replied.

‘Ni feidir liom,’ the giantess growled, her voice a basal rumble. ‘Bhaineann me go dti an aingeal dorcha.’

‘Sin deireadh leis. Ar m’anam tar liom go sÌoch-nta agus beidh t’ sln. NÌ dhÈanfar aon dochar duit,’ Alben replied.