An automatic voice boomed. “INTRUDERS IN THE FRONT GATE!” The guard’s pay of dwarven ale was on the line: “Who drew a weapon!?” Up went the old man’s hands. “I’m sorry! It’s just a cane!” “Phew,” breathed the guard, sheathing his sword. The old man smacked him. “Dummy,” said Gigas as the illusion wore off.
Security was suddenly important to Gigas. At bedtime, he magically locked the door of his room, put a mannequin in his bed, teleported back out of the castle, came in again disguised as a servant, and went to sleep in a different room. No one knew where to find him at night. Well, except Tiva.
Gralannan brought King Tony to inspect the golem-and-dwarf shaped hole in the floor. “Seriously, Marshall?” sighed Tony. “Don’t look at me! I didn’t tell it to chase Johnny!” Suddenly, a second Gralannan came to see the commotion. Tony turned as the man next to him shapeshifted into a bird and flew away, laughing.
“All right, cough them up,” demanded Bane. The restrained gnome’s old face was full of contempt as he tossed a hefty bag. Bane held it to his grizzled mug and inspected: pure gold, every coin. Garbage. “Come on, the real stuff.” The gnome growled, withdrew the secret wooden nickels from his sock. Bane nodded. “Better.”
Planning to write the long awaited next chapter to Gigas’ Tale soon, in which I explain what G.I.G.A.S. stands for.