Free The Mad Giant (Shioni of Sheba Book 3) by Marc Secchia Page A

she might faint.
    There were three distinct groups in the courtyard–Talaku in the first, managing despite his gigantic presence to remind her of a sullen boy accused of stealing honeyed sweets from Mama’s kitchen, Princess Annakiya and General Getu in the next, presiding over proceedings, and a gaggle of quarrelsome village elders in the third, trying not to be intimidated by the one hundred Sheban Elite warriors standing to attention all around them and lining the battlements above.
    “How many goats was that?” whispered Princess Annakiya.
    “I make it nineteen,” General Getu muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
    “Twenty-three,” said Shioni, who had been scratching lines on the stones by her knees. “And counting.”
    She just about caught Getu’s snigger of amusement, made with a perfectly straight face. He clapped his hand on his knee for attention. “My fathers! From what I hear, you have been blessed with many goats. We Shebans will of course offer fair compensation for these stolen animals. Appoint therefore amongst yourselves one who will receive an agreed sum and distribute it among you according to what you agree has been lost by each person.”
    Getu , the old fox, had lost none of his wiles. Shioni grinned inwardly. How she wished she could have as much wisdom dealing with people! Maybe then she would spend less time floating underwater. A shiver touched her neck with spiderlike delicacy. The three slave-girls had vanished. Overnight, sent away, as though they had never been–at Annakiya’s orders, she reasoned, or she was a plodding old donkey. But things were no better for her since.
    Her latest nickname was ‘the ferengi witch’. When they saw her coming, her fellow slaves and many of the warriors would make a sign to ward off evil. The tale of the attacking birds was like a grass fire stoked by a blustering breeze. Shioni would have preferred the tale of the flying elephant, which Mama loved to tell in her unique style. Her jaw was tender from constantly gritting her teeth over the matter. Either way, there was nothing natural about what had happened.
    And she would never be the same person again.
    Shioni held that thought for a moment. It was frightening what one experience could do to her. Mama had ordered her to go back to the pool and swim there. Would she find the courage? There had been no opportunity as yet.
    At least Dusky was alright–winded and sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. That was more important than her stupid, aching foot!
    Here came Mama now, directing a group of slave-girls to lay out a meal, missobs –low, round tables woven from rushes–for eating from, and three-legged stools for the elders. The stools had been carved by the carpenters just last week, she remembered. The shared meal symbolised the understanding between West Sheba, or Talaku, and the villagers. She just hoped the giant would not stuff his face too obviously. Her thoughts must have shown, because Talaku was giving her a sinister glare across the courtyard. His cheek twitched once. And then she caught a picture from him, remembering how he had stolen his most recent goat.
    Her jaw sagged open. Heavens above, Talaku was talking–well, emoting, that was what Shuba called it–just like an animal! How creepy! Nausea burned in the pit of her stomach. How… disturbing. Shioni clamped her teeth back together. She tried to think it through, but all she could imagine was that either he was changing, or she was. And she didn’t fancy either idea. Not one bit.
    Her neck was killing her . So much for having time to recover, as Mama Nomuula had ordered. The village elders had not announced their visit–which was not unusual, but it threw the castle staff into a frenzy of preparations. Apparently she was still fit to chop onions. No bandaged foot or red weals on her wrists from fighting the leather thong had changed that.
    The Elite warriors had spent the days preparing for their raid on Chiro