Dead? Twenty people dead? Roland stared hard at the man, thinking perhaps he was lying, trying to scare the Thillian away from SeaKing trade routes. Andor leaned back against the tree trunk, his eyes closed. Roland saw sweat trickle down the man’s forehead, the dark circles beneath the sunken eyes, the ashen lips. No, he wasn’t lying. Fear constricted Roland’s heart. He remembered hearing Rega’s frantic scream, crying his name. He swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth.
“And . . . you?” he managed.
Andor stirred, opened his eyes, and grinned again. It was lopsided, because of his damaged mouth, and seemed ghastly to Roland.
“I was away from camp, answering nature’s call. I heard the fighting … I heard the screams. That darktime . . . God of the Waters, I’m thirsty!” He moistened his lips with his tongue again. “I stayed put. Hell, what could I do? That darktime, I circled back. I found them-my business partners, my uncle . . .” He shook his head. “I ran. Kept going. But they caught me, brought me here right before they brought you in. It’s weird, the way they can see you without eyes.”
“Who . . . what the hell are they?” Roland demanded.
“You don’t know? They’re tytans.”
Roland snorted. “Kids’ stories-”
“Yeah! Kids.” Andor began to laugh. “My little nephew was seven. I found his body. His head had been split wide open, like someone had stomped on it.” His laughter shrilled and broke; he coughed painfully.
‘Take it easy,” Roland whispered.
Andor drew a shuddering breath. “They’re tytans, all right; the ones who destroyed the Kasnar Empire. Wiped it out. Not a building left standing, a person left alive except those who managed to flee ahead of them. And now they’re moving south, coming down through the dwarven kingdoms.”
“But the dwarves’ll stop them, surely . . . ?”
Andor sighed, grimaced, and twisted his body. “Word is that the dwarves are in league with ’em, that they worship these bastards. The dwarves plan to let the tytans march right through and destroy us, then the dwarves’ll take over our lands.”
Roland recalled vaguely Blackbeard saying something about his people and the tytans, but it was too long ago, swimming in ale.
Movement glimpsed from a corner of his eye caused him to turn. More of the giants appeared, gliding into the large open space where the two humans lay bound, moving more silently than the wind, never fluttering a single leaf.
Roland eyed these new creatures warily, saw that they carried bundles in their arms. He recognized a fall of dark hair. . . .
“Rega!” He sat up, struggling wildly against his bonds.
Andor smiled, his mouth twisting. “More of you, huh? And an elf with you! God of the Waters, if we had caught you . . .”
The tytans carried their captives to the base of Roland’s tree and laid them down. His heart rose when he saw that they were gentle with their prisoners, taking care to ease them to the ground. Both Paithan and Rega were unconscious, their clothes covered with what looked like pieces of broken fungus. But neither appeared to be injured. Roland could see no blood, no signs of braising or broken bones. The tytans bound their captives skillfully and efficiently, stared down at them a moment, as if studying them, then left them. Gathering in the center of the clearing, the tytans formed a circle and their heads turned toward the others,
“Spooky bunch,” Roland decided. Edging his body as near Rega’s as possible, he laid his head down on her chest. Her heart beat was strong and regular. He nudged her with an elbow.
Her eyelids fluttered. She opened them, saw Roland and blinked, startled and confused. Remembered terror flooded her eyes. She tried to move, discovered she was bound, and caught her breath in a fearful gasp.
“Rega! Hush! Lie still. No, don’t try! These damn vines tighten if you struggle.”
“Roland! What happened? Who are these-” Rega looked at the tytans and shuddered.
“The tyros must have caught wind of these things and bolted. I was chasing after them when the jungle came alive all around me. I had time to scream and that was it. They caught me, knocked me out.”