Hugi tugged at Holger’s pants. “Forget not the gold,” he whispered avariciously.
“Nor the curse on ’t,” said Alianora. “For I fear if we win, ’twill no be by wholly honest means.”
Holger was too pragmatic to worry about that aspect. Doubtless only a saint could fight evil without being to some extent corrupted by his own deeds. Nevertheless, the giant had come as an unprovoked, cannibalistic aggressor. Hoodwinking him to save Alianora could not be a very heavy sin.
Even so… curses were not to be laughed off. Holger felt a chill in his guts. He didn’t know why, but an instinct muttered to him that victory over this foe might be as ruinous as defeat.
“Done!” The hideous face opened. “I’ve found your answer, knight. Two four-hundred-pound canaries!”
Holger sighed. He couldn’t expect to win every time. “Okay, Jumbo. Third riddle.”
The giant stopped rubbing his hands together. “Don’t call me Jumbo!”
“And why not?”
“Because my name is Balamorg. A fearsome name, which many a widow, many an orphan, many a village kicked to flinders, has good cause to know. Call me truly.”
“Oh, but you see, where I come from, Jumbo is a term of respect. For hark you—” Holger spun out an improbable story for ten or fifteen minutes. Balamorg interrupted him with a grated command: “The last riddle. Make haste, or I overfall you this instant.”
“Heigh-ho. As you wish. Tell me then: what is green, has wheels, and grows around the house?”
“Huh?” The ponderous jaw fell. Holger repeated. “What house?” asked the giant.
“Any house,” said Holger.
“Grows, did you say? I told you, questions about some fabulous tree on which wagons cluster like fruit are not true riddles.”
Holger sat down and began cleaning his, nails with his sword point. It occurred to him that Alfric’s magnesium knife might have the same effect as sunlight, when kindled. Or maybe it wouldn’t. The total energy output would probably be too small. Still, if he had to fight, he could try the Dagger of Burning. He could now make out his enemy’s features, though the fire was burned down to embers.
“The challenges I’ve given you are common among children in my homeland,” he said.
True enough. But Balamorg’s wounded ego led to several more minutes of huffing and puffing. At last, with an angry grunt, he went into his trance of concentration.
Holger sat very still. Alianora and Hugi lay like stones. Even Papillon grew motionless. But their eyes were turned eastward.
And the sky lightened.
After some fraction of eternity, the ogre smote the ground and looked at them. “I give up,” he snarled. “The sun pains me already. I must find shelter. What’s the answer?”
“Why should I tell you?” Holger rose.
“Because I say so!” The colossus got up too, crouched, lips drawn back from fangs. “Or I’ll stamp your wench flat!” Holger hefted his sword. “Very well,” he said. “Grass.” “What?”
“Grass is the answer.”
“But grass has no wheels!”
“Oh, I lied about the wheels,” said Holger.
Rage ripped from Balamorg in one thunderous bellow. He hurled himself against the knight. Holger skipped back, away from Alianora. Could he keep this monster berserk and witless for another five minutes, and stay alive himself, then— “Nyah, nyah, nyah, can’t catch me!” Balamorg’s paw snatched at him. He swung his sword with all his force and hewed off a fingertip. Then it was leap and duck, cut and wriggle, taunt to enrage and gasp to breathe.
Until the sun’s rim cleared the eastern darkness.
As the first beams touched him, Balamorg screamed. Holger had never heard such agony before. Even while he ran from the toppling mass, he was haunted by the horror of it. The giant hit the ground hard enough to shake boulders loose. He writhed and changed, gruesomely. Then he was silent. The sun fell on a long slab of granite, whose human shape was hardly recognizable but which was still wrapped in skins.
Holger fell to earth also, a roaring in his ears.
He recovered with his head on Alianora’s bosom. Her hair and her tears fell on his face like the new sunlight. Hugi capered around the great stone. “Gold, gold, gold!” he cackled. “Ever they giants carry a purseful o’ gold. Hurry, man, slit yon sack and make us wealthier nor kings!”