Free The Call of the Crown (Book 1) by T.J. Garrett Page A

yet?” He grabbed the spokes, Grady took hold on the other side, and both men heaved with all their strength. It had little effect; still the cart slid closer and closer to the edge.
    Suddenly the cart stopped sliding and lifted away from them. Daric and Grady tumbled to the ground as the broken wheel spun free. Quickly, they got to their feet. Daric’s jaw dropped at the sight of Gialyn’s “giant” standing at the rear of the cart.
    The giant’s face was expressionless, as though the weight of a cart full of raw pig iron had little effect on him. He simply nodded at the two of them. Daric and Grady looked to each other with disbelieving smiles.
    The other man—the older one with the cane, the giant’s companion—walked casually forward. Stopping by the side of the horse, he ran his hand gently along its flank, whispering quietly as he moved forward. He passed his cane to Gialyn and laid his hands on either side of the horse’s head. Slowly, the old man moved closer until his brow touched the horse’s nose. All the fear appeared to flow out of the animal. It whickered gently and stood calm. Its eyes blinked; its breathing levelled to a steady pant.
    The older man looked to his friend and pointed to the verge across the path. Slowly, the two of them led the horse and cart away from the riverbank. “You can unhitch him now,” the older one said, calmly looking at Harnon while stroking the horse’s muzzle.
    “Thank you, sir, thank you.” Harnon bowed almost to his knees as he moved to unhitch the horse’s straps. “Harmon Gaulman is my name, sir. I’m in your debt. If there is anything—”
    “No need for debts, my friend. It was our pleasure to help. This is my friend Arfael”—he gestured towards the “giant”—“and I am Olam.
    Arfael bowed to Harmon.
    The cart-man nervously bowed back. “He’s a handy one to have around,” Harnon said to no one in particular.
    Olam laughed. “Yes, I suppose he is at that.”
    Arfael smiled, showing two rows of dog-like teeth.
    Olam turned and started to walk towards Daric and the others. “Hello, my friends, I’m Olam, and this is my friend Arfael.” He bowed deeply with his open hand placed on his chest. “Good that you were here. I feared we would be too late. If you hadn ’t stopped it sliding…”
    Arfael lumbered up beside Olam.
    “Gods, it is him. It’s the giant.” Gialyn’s muffled whisper was louder than he expected. He quickly put his hand to his mouth and swallowed hard.
    Daric greeted Olam and the giant with a friendly handshake. “I think the thanks should be all yours.” He looked over the two men.
    The lumbering Arfael was huge, probably over eight feet, maybe more, even with his slouch. The long, light-brown linen cape he wore barely reached around his immense shoulders. It clasped at the neck with a thick iron ringlet that attached to two lengths of cord woven in and out at the collar in a most sturdy fashion. He had arms the thickness of Daric’s leg, with hands the size of coal shovels and fingers the thickness of tent pegs.
    Arfael slouched forward, looking down on Daric from inside his hood. Staring passively, the giant had cat -like eyes—yellow with oddly shaped pupils. There appeared to be no profile to his face; all was flat, yet distinctive in feature. A thick, barely shaven, jaw protruded like that of a wolf or dog from inside his hood. A thickset forehead, lined with bushy eyebrows, and a flat nose took up much of his face, completed the stranger’s unusual facial features. Despite the curious qualities, he had a striking look, not ugly at all, but clearly, he was not Surabhan.
    Daric tried not to stare . He quickly turned his gaze back to the older man.
    Olam was more common in appearance. It looked to Daric as though he may be a teacher or perhaps a man of letters. He certainly spoke well enough to be a learned gent. He held himself proud. There was no slouching here; he was standing as straight as a plumb line, even