Both shook their heads. The Patryn looked to Drugar, but the dwarf apparently wasn’t talking.
“All we know,” said Roland, elected to speak by his sister’s poke in the ribs, “is that they came down from the norinth. We heard they destroyed the Kasner Empire there, and now I believe it.”
“They wiped out the dwarves,” added Paithan, “and . . . well . . . you saw what they did to the Thillian realm. And now they’re moving into Equilan.”
“I can’t believe they came out of nowhere!” Haplo persisted. “You must have heard of them before this?”
Rega and Roland looked at each other, the woman shrugged helplessly. “There were legends. Old wives’ tales-the kind you tell when it’s darktime and you’re sitting around, trying to see who can come up with the scariest story. There was one about a nursemaid-”
“Tell me,” urged Haplo.
Rega, pale, shook her head and turned her face away.
“Why don’t you drop it, all right?” Roland said harshly.
Haplo glanced at Paithan. “How deep’s the gulf, elf? How long will it take them to cross it?”
Paithan licked dry lips, drew a shivering breath. “The gulf is very deep, but they could go around it. And we’ve heard they’re coming from other directions, from the est as well.”
“I think you had better tell me all you know. Old wives have been known to hold onto the wisdom of generations.”
“All right,” said Roland, in resigned tones. “There was an old woman who came to stay with the king’s children while the king and queen were off doing whatever it is kings and queens do. The children were spoiled brats, of course. They tied the nursemaid up in a chair, and proceeded to wreck the castle.
“After a while, though, the children got hungry. The old woman promised that, if they let her loose, she’d bake them some cookies. The children untied the nursemaid. The old woman went to the kitchen and baked cookies that she made in the shape of men. The old woman was, in reality, a powerful wizardess. She took one of the man-shaped cookies and breathed life into it. The cookie grew and grew until it was larger than the castle itself. The nursemaid set the giant to watch the children while she took a nap. She called the giant a tytan-”
‘That word, tytan,” Paithan interrupted. “It’s not an elven word, it’s not human. Is it dwarven?” He glanced at Drugar.
The dwarf shook his head.
“Then where does that word come from? Maybe knowing its original meaning and source would tell us something?”
It was an arrow shot at random, but it might land too close to the bull’s eye. Haplo knew the word, knew its source. It was a word from his language and that of the Sartan. It came from the ancient world, referring originally to that world’s ancient shapers. Over time, its meaning had broadened, eventually becoming synonymous with giant. But it was an unsettling notion. The only people who could have called these monsters tytans were the Sartan . . . and that opened up entire realms of possibility.
“It’s just a word,” Haplo said. “Go on with the story.”
“The children were afraid of the tytan, at first. But they soon found out it was gentle and kind and loving. They began to tease it. Snatching up the man-shaped cookies, the children would bite the heads off and threaten to do the same to the giant. The tytan grew so upset that it ran away from the castle and …” Roland paused, frowning thoughtfully. “That’s odd. I didn’t think of it before now. The tytan in the story loses his way and goes around asking people-”
“‘Where is the castle’!” Paithan murmured.
“‘Where is the citadel,’ ” Haplo echoed.
Paithan nodded, excited. “‘Where is the citadel? What must we do?’ ”
“Yes, I heard it. What’s the answer? Where is the citadel?”
“What is a citadel?” Paithan asked, gesturing wildly. “Nobody even knows for certain what the word means!”
“Anyone who knows the answer to their questions would truly be a savior,” said Rega, her voice low. Her fist clenched. “If only we knew what they wanted!”