The Ogre Apprentice

by Trevor H. Cooley

  “I am stronger now,” Beard said. “What about you?”

  Fist snorted. He took off his boots and kicked them to the side, then unbuttoned his long-sleeved shirt. It would only get torn in the fight anyway. He pulled it off and tossed it over to Charz. The giant frowned and threw it at Maryanne, who caught it and hung it over one shoulder.

  Fist stretched his arms high over his head and the crowd shouted in approval. Fist knew he was a truly impressive figure. He was enormous for an ogre; over six hundred pounds of muscle and eight feet tall with a huge wingspan. Yet Beard’s smile only faded slightly.

  As Fist lowered his arms and looked down at his torso, he thought he knew why. Nearly a year of living at the Mage School had softened him up a bit. His musculature wasn’t as defined as it used to be and there was a slight layer of fat at his midsection. Three weeks of journeying hadn’t changed that as much as he’d hoped.

  “Ready!” shouted Crag.

  Beard crouched in a fighting stance. Fist shrugged away his doubts. His recent lack of training didn’t matter. This was Beard.

  Fist formed a fighting stance of his own, crouching low on the balls of his feet, one leg slightly behind the other. He held both hands up, his finger’s outspread, ready to grab his opponent. With his superior reach, there was little Beard could do.

  “Fight!” Crag commanded.

  Beard darted forward. Fist reached for him and Beard grabbed Fist’s large hands, interlacing his fingers with his own. The shorter ogre then yanked Fist toward him and leapt, thrusting his right knee upward. Fist was unprepared for this move and the blow struck him underneath his chin, snapping his head back.

  The attack was quick and brutal, just the kind of opening blow that Fist himself specialized in. He was momentarily dazed, but had the presence of mind to hold on to Beard’s fingers and not let go. Fist pushed the ogre out at arms length and shook his head, trying to shake the haze from his mind.

  Beard kicked out, but could not reach Fist’s torso. The shorter ogre then began launching kicks into Fist’s arms, aiming for pressure points in between his muscles. Each strike sent sharp explosions of pain through Fist’s arms, followed by a numbness that threatened to loosen his grip.

  “What are you doing?” Maryanne yelled. “Clobber him!”

  With a growl, Fist arched his back and yanked Beard toward him, at the same time shooting a heavy foot forward in a mighty kick. The blow was intended to land on Beard’s chest, but the ogre saw the attack coming and raised his right leg high to absorb the blow.

  The force of the kick knocked Beard free from Fist’s hands. The ogre stumbled backward, but caught his balance. He barked out a short laugh. “The little peoples make you weak, Fist!”

  Fist shook his head again. This fight wasn’t going to be as easy as he had thought. He hadn’t grappled with anyone in a long while and Beard was well practiced. Also, Beard was faster than him. From the cocky grin on his face, the ogre knew it too.

  You will win, Squirrel said from his perch on Puj’s shoulder.

  Fist resumed his fighting stance and waited, his arms outstretched. True, Beard was faster, but he was stronger and smarter. This time he would be ready.

  “Come, Beard,” he said. “Try that again.”

  “You come,” Beard said. The ogre knew that his opening attack was something that would only work once. Fist’s stance was a defensive one, ready for whatever attack he could mete out.

  Fist didn’t move. “Come!”

  “Do you see, Puj?” Beard laughed, eying Fist warily. He started to circle around Fist, dancing from foot to foot, but Fist matched him step for step, keeping the ogre in front of him. “He is scared of me!”

  “Then come, Little Beard!” Fist mocked. “Show her how good you are!”

  Beard’s lips twisted into a snarl and he came closer, staying just outside of Fist’s reach. He began sending short kicks up at Fist’s open hands, trying to get the larger ogre to move. Fist understood the ogre’s fighting style better now. Beard was a kicker, an uncommon fighting choice for an ogre.

  Fist let him kick his hands to the side a few times, waiting for the right moment. Then Beard kicked at his right arm and this time Fist latched on to him, grabbing Beard by the ankle. He yanked the ogre in and swung his left fist low intending a strike to the groin, but Beard reached down and blocked it.

  Fist, still holding on to Beard’s ankle, swung his left leg up in a kick. The ogre took the blow to his chest, but wrapped both arms around Fist’s leg, latching on. When Fist brought his leg back down, he was holding Beard upside down.

  Beard kicked up with his free foot, slamming Fist under the chin again. Fist grabbed the ankle of that leg and Beard bit him in the side of the shin. Fist yelled and slammed his right knee up into Beard’s side. The ogre grunted, but he just bit down harder, tearing right through Fist’s pants and deep into his flesh.

  Fist kneed the ogre again and again, but Beard refused to let go. Finally, Fist fell forward. He focused the weight of his body onto his knees, crushing the ogre’s torso underneath him.

  The move tore Beard’s mouth from Fist’s leg. The ogre twisted and strained, trying to get out from under him. Fist delivered a quick punch to Beard’s groin and ground his knees into the ogre’s flesh.

  Beard let out a panicked shout and punched Fist repeatedly in the lower back. Fist didn’t intend to let up, but somehow the ogre arched his back and dislodged Fist enough that he was able to scramble away.

  Fist rolled to his feet, breathing heavily. His head rang, his kidneys ached, and his leg burned. He could feel blood running over his left foot and looked down to see that a large chunk of flesh was missing from the side of his leg.

  Ouch! said Squirrel sympathetically.

  Beard snarled and used the back of his arm to wipe his lips. It made little difference. The whole side of his face still glistened with the red wetness of Fist’s blood. “You do not even taste like ogre!”

  There were appreciative murmurs from the crowd. Fist even heard a bark of laughter that could only have come from Charz. He grit his teeth.

  This time he went on the offensive. He came at Beard, his hands balled into fists, and swung a massive punch. The smaller ogre sped towards him and ducked under Fist’s heavy blow.

  Beard sent two stiff punches into Fist’s midsection. Fist grunted and brought up a knee, but Beard backed out of the way. The ogre laughed. “You was a warrior before. A Thunder People hero! Not now.”

  Fist snarled and tried to grab him. Beard pushed his arm out of the way and threw a stunning punch into Fist’s right eye. Fist was rocked back and the shorter ogre sent a kick into his belly, doubling Fist over. He grabbed Fist’s head and slammed it into his upthrust knee, striking Fist’s eye again.

  Fist! Cried Squirrel in alarm. Maryanne and Puj echoed him, calling Fist’s name.

  Beard slid his right hand in and gripped Fist’s throat. The ogre squeezed. “Now what is you?”

  Fist’s vision dimmed. What was happening? Was he actually being beaten? That couldn’t be right.

  Fist!

  “You? A ogre mage?” Beard spat. “No.”

  Beard was right. Fist was fooling himself. What was he doing here anyway? He hadn’t wanted to come. He had been happy at the Mage School. So much to learn . . .

  No! Fight! Squirrel shouted.

  Fist took strength from his bonded’s insistence. He reached up with both hands and clutched Beard’s forearm, digging into it with his fingers. He tightened the muscles in his thick neck and got his chin down, digging it into the joint behind Beard’s thumb.

  The ogre’s grip loosened slightly and Fist was able to draw one ragged breath, but Beard did not let go. He punched Fist’s face repeatedly with his other hand. “You is not a ogre anymore!”

  Fist had said the same thing himself. He wasn’t an ogre. He was something else. He was something better. Wasn’t that true? His thoughts were muddled. His vision began to dim again.

  The c
hanting in the circle of ogres around him was now interspersed by worried shouts. Someone called for Fist to give in. It was an oddly comforting thought. Perhaps that was for the best. Maybe if he lost, Crag would stop his insistence that Fist help the tribe. Maybe then he could go home.

  “You is human now.” Beard leaned in, his snarling visage glaring right into Fist’s. “Puj needs a ogre man. Like me!”

  Fight! Squirrel demanded and a flood of images poured into Fist’s mind through the bond. They started as memories; Puj’s face swollen, her eye socket broken. Puj’s neck bruised. Then the images changed. Fist was gone and Beard had her for himself. Puj was beaten again. An enraged Beard kicked her in the belly, a belly swollen with child . . .

  “No!” Fist stood, his hands tightening on Beard’s forearm. Energy flooded his limbs and Fist pulled the ogre’s hand from his throat. He took a deep breath and roared. “You are wrong!”

  Worry filled Beard’s face. He kicked Fist in the abdomen. He kicked him in the groin.

  Fist barely noticed. He let go of Beard’s arm with one hand and threw a heavy punch. The shorter ogre got his other arm up to block, but the force of Fist’s blow knocked him off his feet.

  Fist didn’t let go of his arm. He sent a foot into Beard’s belly, then stood over him and punched down again, this time connecting squarely with the side of Beard’s head.

  “I am an ogre!” Fist shouted. He grabbed Beard’s waist wraps and pulled the struggling ogre off of the ground. Beard punched and kicked and scratched, but he had no leverage. Fist strained and lifted the ogre high overhead. “And I’m something more!”

  Fist threw Beard to the ground.

  Beard landed on his back, the air blasted from his lungs. The ogre rolled over onto his hands and knees and Fist grabbed him again, this time by the neck and one leg. Fist roared again and swung the ogre high over his head slamming him back down again.

  Beard’s face rebounded off the cold hard ground and this time he was slower trying to get up. Fist picked him up one last time and raised him up into the air, but instead of simply throwing him down again, he upended the ogre and slammed him into the ground head first. Beard’s neck crumpled and he collapsed.

  “You can’t have her!” Fist shouted and the crowd around him erupted into applause.

  Beard didn’t move.

  “The fight is over!” Crag shouted with glee. “Fist wins!”

  Fist looked down at Beard with the one eye that wasn’t swelling shut. The ogre’s face was a swollen mess. Had he killed him? Part of him wanted to make sure, to stomp on Beard repeatedly until there was no doubt. That part of him made Fist sick to his stomach.

  Some of the ogres rushed to Beard’s side. “Stay back!” Fist commanded and shoved them, away. He fell to his knees beside the still ogre.

  Fist raised one weary arm out over him. He sent magical energies into Beard’s body, assessing the damage. Beard had been knocked unconscious, but he was alive. The ogre’s heart was still beating, but faintly. Fist moved the magic up Beard’s spine and saw the worst injury. That last blow had broken the ogre’s neck.

  Beard was lucky. If his head had been twisted another hairsbreadth it could have killed him. As it was, it was an injury that Fist could fix.

  For a moment, Fist considered doing nothing at all. All he had to do was step back and stand up. The other ogres would come in and try to wake Beard. That additional movement would likely kill him.

  Yes. Let him die, Squirrel urged.

  Fist winced. That decision felt wrong to him, I must give him one last chance. Maybe this time he will learn. I won. By law he has to keep away from her.

  He won’t, Squirrel replied, his thoughts sure.

  There was every chance that Squirrel was right. Beard had been dogged in his pursuit of Puj before, despite the rules in his way. But Fist had made his decision. He poured his magic into the ogre, using fine threads of earth and water to knit Beard’s bones back together.

  Once the injury had been repaired, Fist stood and backed up. Beard had two broken ribs and a sprained wrist and multiple contusions in other places, but Fist left those injuries alone. Let the pain be a reminder should Beard ever think about messing with the Big and Little People again.

  Fist sent out threads of earth and air, covering his foot with sparks of electric energy. Then he gave Beard a little kick. There was a sharp zap. The ogre gasped and opened his eyes.

  Fist glared down at him. “You lost! You would have died, but I healed your neck.” Fist pointed a warning finger. “Leave my tribe alone from now on. Touch any of them again and I will kill you.”

  Beard’s eyes blazed with a mix of fear and anger. He moved to sit up, but grimaced in pain and collapsed. He lay still and stared glumly into the sky, all fight gone out of his body. Fist turned and left, hoping that he had made the right decision.

  He walked right into a crowd of Thunder People. They congratulated him, clapping him on the back, jostling his injuries and sending sparks of pain throughout his body. Crag was the most enthusiastic, clasping Fist’s arms proudly.

  “You made a good fight son! The Thunder People will talk about the way you smashed Beard for a long time!”

  “Good,” Fist said, forcing a smile, though doing so hurt his swollen face. “Just make sure Beard and Glug stay away from us from now on.”

  Crag smashed his fist into his palm. “They will never touch your tribe again. I promise.”

  Fist gave him a firm nod and turned around just in time to be accosted by Puj. The ogress threw her arms around him and squeezed, sending an even larger flare of pain along his bruised back and ribs. “Big Fist, you winned for me!”

  “Ah!” Fist fought back a whimper. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Yes. He will not hurt you again. Please l-let go a little.”

  Maryanne stepped in to his rescue. “Get off him, ogre girl,” she ordered. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”

  “Oh!” said Puj. She dropped her and arms stepped back, looking Fist up and down. “You want me to put leaves on it?”

  “No!” Fist said hastily. “I should go see Locksher.”

  “Here,” Maryanne said. She still had his shirt in her hands. She didn’t bother to get him to try putting it on, but settled it over his shoulders.

  “Thanks,” Fist said

  “Hey, that was a good fight at the end there,” said Charz’s booming voice. The giant chuckled. “Though from the looks of your face, people’ll think you lost.”

  Fist frowned at him. “You’re not a very good friend.”

  “What?” Charz said. “I’m glad you won.”

  “You laughed when he bit me,” Fist said. “I heard you.”

  Charz laughed again. “I’m sorry. It was only funny because I was telling Beard a story the other day. It was about how I won a fight against one of the arena champions by biting a big ol’ hole in his leg. Beard thought it was hilarious!”

  “So it was your fault,” Fist said with a glare. The bite on his leg hurt worse than any of his other injuries.

  Charz lifted his hands defensively. “Like I said, sorry.”

  “Come on, Fist,” Maryanne said, directing him away from the giant. “The wizard’s still looking at the dead rats. Probably doesn’t even know you were fighting.”

  Fist limped away from the camp, Maryanne holding one of his arms. Puj was holding onto the other, supporting most of his weight. Despite the pain, he felt pretty happy about how the fight had turned out. Not only had he taught Beard a lesson, Fist had learned something of his own. He couldn’t let himself get complacent. Whether it be his physical training or his magical training, too many people were counting on him.

  Squirrel jumped to his shoulder. You did good.

  Fist turned his head to look at him. “Really, Squirrel? You aren’t mad at me because I didn’t kill him?”

  You are too nice. The squirrel shrugged. You won.

  “You helped me,” Fist said. Thank you.

  You
are my Fist, Squirrel replied.

  “Hey Locksher,” Maryanne said. “We need your help here.”

  “Huh?” The wizard didn’t look up at them as they approached.

  Two pairs of moonrat eyes were laid out on the ground in front of him, one of them had been cut in neat slices. Locksher was wearing a pair of glasses with multiple lenses and had a pipe in his mouth that was belching blue smoke. As usual, he wasn’t inhaling the smoke himself, just using it as a medium to reveal magic in his experiments.

  He was peering at the moonrat eyes with intense interest. “Where have you been, Maryanne? And what was all that commotion about? I found it hard to think with all that yammering.”

  “Fist was in a fight,” the gnome said. “He’s injured.”

  Locksher looked up at the ogre and his jaw dropped, nearly losing the pipe. “What in blazes were you doing? Are we under attack?”

  “No, master,” Fist said. “I was fighting the ogre that’s been beating Puj.”

  “Ah.” Locksher’s eyes flickered to the ogre female on his arm. “You won, I hope?”

  “Yes,” said Puj with a wide grin. “He beated him good.”

  “Hmm. Well, come on. Lie down so I can take a look at you.”

  Wincing, Fist eased himself to the ground and laid back. He tried not to look at the dissected remains of the dead moonrats nearby.

  Locksher extinguished his pipe with a thread of water, then set it aside and bent over Fist. He sent probing injuries into the ogre’s body, starting at his head. “Let’s see, broken nose, various contusions and rupture of minor blood vessels. Damaged cartilage in the throat. My, that would be quite uncomfortable. Hmm, bruised ribs . . . bruised right kidney.” He moved down Fist’s leg and straightened in surprise. “A large . . . chunk has been taken out of your leg.”

  “Beard bit him,” Maryanne explained.

  Locksher grimaced. “Ah, well, uh, you wouldn’t happen to have the missing piece so that I may reattach it, would you?”

  “I think he swallowed it,” Fist said, trying not to think about it too much.

  “I see.” The wizard shrugged. “Well, I shan’t be able to grow it back completely. You’ll have an interesting scar to say the least.” He put his hands near the wound and Fist felt the tingle of the wizard’s magic as he knit the flesh back together. “It is quite deep. He actually scraped the bone. My, the ogre’s mouth must have been filthy. Infection has already set in.”