Athryn leaped through a bush and disappeared from Khirro’s view. With no way to tell what lay beyond—life or death, escape or capture—Khirro’s heart jumped into his throat, blocking the breath that already struggled to enter his sore lungs. The smell of the sea ahead and the sound of the giant behind urged him on, and he plunged through the foliage. Thorns tore his clothes and scratched his face. His feet tangled and he spilled headlong through the other side of the bushes, losing his feet from under him.

     Warm sand touched his cheek. With no branches slapping his armor or leaves brushing his ears, he heard the waves rolling onto the beach. Somehow, Athryn had known where they were, though Khirro had felt lost since the day they left the Necromancer’s keep.

     Athryn grabbed Khirro under his arm and pulled him up. The sand under their feet muted the rumble of the giant’s massive strides behind them, but it was still there, getting closer. They rushed toward the water.

     Shells and sun-dried seaweed crunched under Khirro’s boot as he navigated around driftwood strewn across the wide swath of beach stretching to the Small Sea. Sand shimmered wetly under the bright midday sun; a cool wind gusted off the water, rustling the sail of the boat lying on its side a few yards from the water’s edge.

     “A boat,” Khirro yelled, pointing.

     “Our boat.”

     Khirro squinted at the vessel and saw his companion was right. He recognized the markings on its side, identifying it as the same craft that brought them to the haunted land, the one Elyea paid for in a way only a woman could. Khirro’s lips squeezed to a thin line at the thought of her and how much she’d sacrificed.

     “We won’t have time to get it into the water,” he said, pulling his mind from his loss.

     “We will do what we can with the time we have.”

     As they reached the stranded boat, a tree crashed to the ground behind them. They spun and saw the beast come through the brush, giving them their first clear view of the giant since stumbling into his path.

     He was taller and broader than the others of his kind they’d encountered, his flat face looming fifteen feet above the ground. What little skin showed through the thick black hair carpeting his barrel chest was burned brown by the sun; his matted beard hung to his filth-filled navel. Blood seeped from a dozen cuts and scrapes scattered across his trunk and arms, likely inflicted by tree branches big enough to knock a normal man out, but his rage seemed to keep him from noticing them. He opened a mouth full of yellowed teeth and roared, a belching sound that sent birds fleeing from nearby trees; the beast brandished a club bigger than an average man.

     Khirro stared. They’d come upon the creature foraging for food a half hour before and quickly decided not to risk confronting it, but the thing caught their scent and took up the chase. They hadn’t counted on him deciding to forage for humans instead of berries.

     “You will have to distract it while I free the boat,” Athryn said slipping his cloak off his shoulders.

     Khirro looked at the white cloth mask covering the magician’s face, at the smears of dirt angling across the cheek and nose, and almost laughed. Why Athryn chose to wear the mask now, after the Necromancer healed his scars, Khirro didn’t know, but even with the cloth hiding his expression, he saw the seriousness in the magician’s eyes. Khirro breathed deep, still recovering from the run.

     “All right, but keep an eye on me.”

     Khirro pulled his shield off his back, its edges charred by dragonfire, and drew the Mourning Sword. After another breath, he stalked across the sand toward the giant.

     What am I doing?

     The giant roared again—a challenge, a taunt to dissuade him—and even from a distance, Khirro smelled the beast’s foul breath. He gritted his teeth and kept moving. Over the past months, he’d helped slay one giant, faced a dragon, and killed a water serpent; certainly he could hold this fellow off while Athryn launched the boat.

     A year ago, I was a farmer. I didn’t even own a sword.

     The giant stooped and used one hand to pick up a boulder two men couldn't have lifted. Khirro stopped, waiting to see what the beast would do. It hefted the rock to shoulder height, cocked its arm and bent at the knees. Lips pulled back in a twisted, effort-filled sneer, the creature heaved the stone.

     Khirro watched in awe for a second as the stone hurtled toward him, reminding him of the ball of hellfire that had taken his friend Jowyn’s life. At the last instant, Khirro forced his legs into action and jumped to his left. The stone landed close enough he felt the thump of it hitting the ground through the soles of his feet; the impact sent a spray of sand against his leg.

     He looked at the stone for a moment, marveling at its size as he let a shuddering breath free of his lungs. The ground trembled again, again, and Khirro jerked his gaze away from the stone, thinking the giant was tossing more projectiles his way, but found the beast had intended only to distract him.

     The huge creature was only ten yards away, rushing toward him, brandishing the huge club in both hands.

     Khirro lurched away from the giant’s weapon as it arced down toward him. The tree trunk-sized club thumped into the sand, leaving behind a hole big enough to trip a horse; the beast lifted it again and aimed a blow at his head. Khirro dove right, the gust of air created by the club’s passing touching his cheek.

     Khirro swung the Mourning Sword but the giant’s arms were too long and the blade missed by more than a foot. The sharp teeth of doubt bit hard at the back of Khirro’s mind; the club whistling through the air nearly knocked it free, along with his head. Khirro rolled across the sand, righted himself and darted inside the arc of the giant’s club, Mourning Sword cocked to strike, but the creature’s fingers grasped for his tunic and he abandoned the attack to keep out of its grip.

     He’s too big. Too fast.

     The beast smiled crookedly and laughed, a sound more threatening and danger-filled than its angry roar.

     He’s toying with me.

     Khirro thought about how he’d become the flame tyger when he fought Ghaul in the Necromancer’s keep, using the fiery claws to defeat his one time friend. Could he do it again? He thought about fire, pictured flames melding into the shape of the tyger.

     Nothing happened.

     The giant kicked a sheet of sand at his face; Khirro averted his eyes and dove aside, concentration broken by the club thumping the sand where he’d just stood.

     “I need help here, Athryn!”

     The magician answered, but Khirro didn’t hear his words as the wooden club scraped across his breast piece. He ducked and dodged. Sweat ran down his face as he searched for an opening to get to the beast without forfeiting his life in the process. The Mourning Sword cut the air with no more success than the first time, but the giant hesitated, giving Khirro a second’s respite from attack. He struck a third time, blade glancing ineffectively off the giant’s weapon, but it gave him a moment’s satisfaction for his steel having touched something.

     The giant roared its ear-splitting war belch and renewed its attack, spinning Khirro about and forcing him back toward the edge of the forest. Beyond the creature and its swirling club, he glimpsed Athryn stripped to the waist, gesturing and chanting before the giant’s massive body blocked his view.

     “Athryn!”

     Another barely-avoided blow sent Khirro to the sand. He held the Mourning Sword up knowing he wouldn’t be able to deflect a blow, and that one direct hit would be enough to end the fight, likely his life. The giant was too strong. What a fool he’d been to think he could hold off the beast on his own.