Tested by the Night

by Maxine Mansfield

  The two men circled each other twice, and then Talmuk smacked Talon lightly on the shoulder and the crowd laughed. And Talon jumped up and smacked him on the very top of his head. The crowd roared.

  Both men grinned at each other, and Mia relaxed a little. Perhaps a friendly bout of hand-to-hand combat meant just that—friendly.

  Then Talmuk threw the first real punch. Talon’s head snapped back, and he stumbled. But he recovered quickly and countered with a blow of his own to the big ogre’s belly rolls, followed quickly with another jab to the jaw.

  Talmuk roared, and Talon growled.

  Mia gaped.

  She wanted to look away but couldn’t. It was like watching a hurricane in slow motion or a wizard’s spell that had gone horribly wrong. It was hard to tell where Talon ended and Talmuk began, they were so closely locked together in battle. Fists flew and blood spurted into the air. Mia wasn’t sure from which opponent it came.

  She couldn’t stand this, and she couldn’t stand still simply watching while the man she loved more than her own life died because of her stupid need to be the next ruling queen of the barbarians.

  She was on the very verge of leaping into the firepit, throwing herself between the two men, and begging the ogre for mercy when Pierced and Alistair grabbed her up, turned her so she could no longer see what was happening and held her tight.

  She struggled to no avail while screaming at the top of her lungs. “Let me go. I must help Talon. Let me go, I order you.”

  They didn’t listen.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Even his eyelids hurt.

  How long had the friendly little scuffle gone on?

  To Talon, it had seemed like forever and a day, and then some.

  Over and over, he and Talmuk had traded barbs and quick, hard punches, low jabs, and high kicks. Even the occasional dirty fighting techniques of biting, tripping, and eye gouging had found their way into the match—on both sides. Though attempting to land anything resembling a legitimate, solid, effective blow on the big-ass ogre warlord had been like ramming his fist straight into a solid brick wall. The only difference being, Talmuk, the brick wall in question, didn’t just stand there and take it. He hit back, and VoT hard.

  Talon stifled a groan as Mia dabbed on yet another glob of whatever noxious stuff she’d been using to stanch the flow of blood from not only his nose, but also his numerous cuts and scrapes.

  “Lie still,” she demanded. “By all rights, I shouldn’t be wasting Aunt Briar’s special Dak Forrest mushroom concoction on the likes of such a stubborn, blockheaded brute of a barbarian as you who doesn’t have the sense to know when to back out gracefully and walk away with all his bones still intact, let alone his—his—, his very life.”

  He would’ve chuckled if the effort to actually move his swollen lips wouldn’t have caused him even more pain on top of the never ending agony he was already experiencing. He didn’t attempt any type of laughter, however. Instead, he concentrated all his efforts on just breathing in and out, through his mouth, without fully expanding his burning ribs or overly contracting his throbbing side and abdominal muscles.

  “Serves you right, you know?” Mia scolded. “Didn’t I tell you nothing good could possibly come from threatening a village full of really-big crazy ogres?”

  He thought about answering her. Really he did. But the effort was more than he was capable of at the moment. Every inch of his body hurt. Even the small spaces between his fingers and toes ached.

  Not that he could’ve really answered her anyway. His tongue was so thick in his mouth it was almost choking him, and he was fairly sure a few of his teeth were no longer in quite the same position they’d been before the bout of hand-to-hand combat.

  “God Draka save us all from the males of every species who have way too much testosterone floating around in their systems for their own good. It’s a wonder any of you fools live long enough to propagate the species.”

  She punched him in the arm, and he groaned.

  “Oh Talon,” she wept. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so very sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I would’ve taken your place in that pit if I could have. I swear I would. I should’ve done what everyone expected of me in the first place and stopped this unattainable quest long ago, before you were harmed. “

  He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to shout the word at her. But pain prevented it. What he’d just endured had to have been for something. He would’ve at least looked her in the eye and silently conveyed his message but his eyelids were almost completely swollen shut and his lashes crusted with sweat and blood—some his, some Talmuk’s.

  He couldn’t even manage to lift a hand to stroke her cheek or wipe away the tears he knew he’d find there. Both his arms throbbed in seemingly unending rhythmic spasms. And he certainly didn’t need Mia, or a mirror as far as that was concerned, to tell him deep black and blue bruises covered the majority of what was left of the rest of his torso and legs. He could feel them, each and every one.

  So he kept quiet while she gently administered to him and continued to not so gently admonish him about how she should’ve been the one to take the beating.

  “After all,” she cried. “It’s my quest to win or lose, not yours.”

  Or at least he stayed as quiet as he could manage. An occasional moan or groan did at times slip past his throat and through his lips. Even when he tried his best to staunch its escape.

  “Silly, silly, silly barbarian,” she said, in a hiccuppy little voice that hurt even deeper than his superficial injuries. It wounded him to his very soul.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to argue when there was a change in the air around him, and Talon felt more than heard the flap of the tent they’d been given as shelter open. He readied himself for yet another rebuke. This one probably from Ohfeelya or Pierced or even Pearl.

  From what he’d been told, the young dragon had had to be chained in order to keep her from interfering. Even now, he could sense her anger and frustration and wondered how many hunting trips it would take to get back in her good graces.

  At least this visitor shouldn’t be Alistair—again. He’d already heard more than he’d cared to from his past nemesis. The man had been livid that Talon had dared interfere so blatantly in Mia’s quest. Though in the end, even Alistair Von Daggertoss had to admit that precisely, no rules had been broken…yet.

  But a rebuke of any kind from anyone never came.

  “Warlord Talmuk wishes to thank you, Barbarian, for obliging him in the friendly little fray in our pit of honor.” The voice was of a male ogre, that much he could tell. It was a voice Talon hadn’t heard speak before. Or at least one he couldn’t place. But with the extent of his injuries, he wasn’t completely sure his hearing hadn’t been affected along with the rest of him.

  He forced himself to nod his head in the general direction of the voice. Not willing to allow this ogre to comprehend the true depth of his damages. After all, a man had his pride, especially a barbarian.

  “No thanks are necessary. It was my pleasure,” he managed to croak.

  The ogre chuckled. “Our warlord has sent me to inform you that, on the morrow, he’ll personally escort your princess and her party deep into our mountain to the shrine of Mooktar. There he’ll present her to our most holly high shaman, Sen Jeasa Mooktar, or as you would say in your language, she who listens to the voice of our god, Mooktar and speaks for him.”

  The ogre paused for but a moment, then continued. “It’s not often strangers are brought before our Sen Jeasa, but Talmuk says you’ve earned the right. It isn’t just any man who remains standing through an entire friendly, little tête-à-tête with such a mighty warlord as Talmuk. You, Barbarian, were the first in more than a generation to have done so. Songs will be sung around the campfires about your bravery. Stories will be told. Your name long remembered.”

  An involuntary smile began forming on Talon’s cracked, swollen lips, but he halted its progression before it could c
ause him further pain. Instead, he fought to stay alert and focused on what the ogre was saying.

  “She who listens, speaks for the mountain and instructs her people how best to pay homage to their god, Mooktar, resides all alone, deep within the bowels of the volcano that was named for him. Someone will come at first light to collect your party. Be ready, it’s a long walk. Talmuk will understand if you yourself would rather stay behind in your tent and rest. He wishes me to assure you that your princess will be as safe with him as she has ever been with you.”

  Talon grunted. “You can tell Talmuk, where my princess goes, so does her barbarian.”

  Mia sighed, and even that little movement against him had spasms of pain racing down his spine.

  “We are honored,” she said.

  Talon didn’t say anything else. He no longer had the strength. But he did manage another quick nod in the ogre’s direction. And he was almost sad when he felt the sudden air change as the flap of their tent once more opened and the large fellow left. For that meant Mia would continue with her not so gentle ministrations and scoldings.

  She surprised him, though. Instead of poking or prodding or rubbing nasty-ass stuff onto every crook, cranny, and crevice of his very tender body, she simply leaned over and lightly kissed his sore lips.

  The touch was soothing, like a balm to his soul.

  “Even though I’ll never truly understand your methods, Talon Starkweather,” she said. “I do have to admit it seems you’re taking the beating you did has gotten us what we came here for and done what I myself failed to do. You’ve procured us a meeting with one of their very highest leaders. Perhaps in your own crazy, male, barbarian way, you’re more the diplomat than I.”

  He did smile then, and he didn’t even care that it hurt like VoT.

  ****

  For at least the tenth time in as many minutes, Mia glanced back at Talon to make sure he was keeping up. How the man had even stood upright this morning and managed to dress himself without much aid was a mystery to her, let alone his not falling behind long before now.

  The trail through the volcano, though wide enough to easily accommodate the big ogre warlord, Talmuk, was a nightmare. The ground below their feet was covered with a layer of sharp, prickly chunks of dried lava, and tight curves circumvented every few yards with a seemingly never-ending, steep, upward incline. The air was thick and hot, and the smell of sweaty ogre and barbarian mixed with sulfur was nauseating.

  Her thighs, calves, and shins screamed with pain. And the bottoms of her feet heated uncomfortably though the thick leather soles of her walking boots should’ve prevented it. Even the root shafts of the hair on her head tingled irritatingly. And to make matters worse, her scalp itched, and she could feel tiny blisters forming from the constant accumulation of hot ash.

  And if she was experiencing this much discomfort, what of poor Talon?

  There was only one explanation that made sense as to why he hadn’t fallen flat on his face long ago. God Draka himself must be holding the stubborn barbarian upright along the tedious, tiring trek. For if not, then whatever was keeping him moving forward, was anybody’s guess.

  And what of Talmuk?

  She shuddered.

  The warlord of the ogre clan had been nothing if not overly friendly since the moment he greeted her party this morning. The way he smiled back at her and winked every few minutes or so had Mia’s skin crawling and her anger bubbling toward the surface. And if she wasn’t fairly certain he was only paying attention to her in order to get on Talon’s nerves, diplomacy or no, she would’ve put him firmly in his place long ago. However, she refused to give the big ugly ogre the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her in the least.

  Anger at the sheer abundance of Talon’s injuries filled her once more, and she wanted to punch the bloated, pudgy-faced warlord right in his big, fat, wide-open kisser. Not only was Talmuk laughing and talking and didn’t seem to be in any distress whatsoever, but if she hadn’t watched the ogre take as good of a beating as he’d given yesterday, she would’ve never believed he’d been in a fight at all. He was almost as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he’d been before ever stepping one foot into the Pit of Honor with Talon.

  But then, perhaps not quite as bright-eyed or bushy-tailed.

  If she looked very close, she could see little tale-tell remnants indicating that perhaps all was not as it appeared. And if she watched, really watched, Talmuk was favoring his right leg quite a bit. And though his nose might not be technically broken, from the sound of his labored breathing, it wasn’t precisely normal either. One of his eyes was at least slightly swollen, and his pasty-white flesh had a deep purplish tent in more than a few areas. And though ogre faces tended to have a green-purple undertone to their pasty whiteness in the first place, she was pretty sure his was a tad more purple than normal today, and perhaps even greener, than it had been yesterday.

  She smiled with the hope that if she laid even one finger upon Talmuk’s body, she’d probably find as many bumps, scrapes, and knotted up muscles as Talon was in possession of this morning. The only difference being, Talmuk had obviously hidden his well beneath the long sleeves of his drab, flesh-colored warlord’s tunic and breeks.

  At least she hoped he was hiding numerous injuries. It would serve the ogre right.

  Beside her, Ohfeelya Upz sighed and pointed toward Talmuk. “Isn’t he simply dreamy? I swear, he’s more man than any man who’s ever come before or will ever come after him. There’s something so dominating, so ruggedly handsome, so…so…so very appealing in the way he moves and, well, in everything he says and does.”

  Her half-gnome, half-ogre friend suddenly stopped and looked her straight in the eye. “A girl could do much worse than having Talmuk, the warlord of the ogre clan, paying attention to her, you know?”

  Mia sighed, then glared at Miss Ohfeelya Upz. “I don’t want his attention. I don’t like him, and neither should you. Look what he did to Talon.”

  Ohfeelya chuckled. “Oh, I see what’s happening here. You’re upset because he bested your barbarian boy toy. Go on, admit it”

  “I am not.” Though Mia knew without a doubt Ohfeelya was at least a little bit right. “And what if I am? Talmuk took unfair advantage.”

  This time Ohfeelya laughed out loud, and Mia wondered what on Albrath was up with her gnome-ogre friend this morning? Had everyone lost their freaking minds over the last few hours?

  It wasn’t bad enough that Ohfeelya was taking Talmuk’s side over Talon’s, but she’d also obviously dressed to impress the ogre warlord on top of it. The fifteen or so stands of blonde hair she possessed were wrapped in a tight little bun on the top of her head and secured with a long, narrow bone, ogre style. And she was wearing bright red lipstick today, for God Draka’s sake. Against her white-white complexion, her mouth looked like an overly-plump, glowing, grinning, neon-red sign.

  “Oh, posh,” Ohfeelya scoffed. “You heard what Talmuk said. Their little tussle was all in good fun. After all, he didn’t kill Talon, did he? And he is taking us to see their shaman. And—and I think he’s extremely handsome and sexy. So there.”

  What was there to say to that? So she didn’t say anything. Instead, Mia concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and did her best to ignore her crampy, achy muscles.

  What she couldn’t ignore, however, was the environment around her.

  The deeper and higher they went inside the volcano, the hotter it got and the harder it became to breathe the thick surrounding air. And it wasn’t just the heat or the air’s heaviness, either, but what it contained. There was a rancid stench of noxious, sulfury smoke and sweat permeating everything. Her chest tightened uncomfortably, and she coughed often.

  To make matters even worse, she had to constantly watch every single step she took. For the farther and deeper they traveled, the more patches of broken ground appeared. Small oozing fountains of red hot magma spurted ever upward, and tiny exploding sparks of burning lava stung her
bare arms while hot ash floated in the air. A thick coat of it covered her skin and clogged her nose and throat.

  She was on the verge of telling Talmuk she’d changed her mind, that she was done and couldn’t go another step when they rounded a sharp bend and she stopped dead in her tracks. There before her ebbed and flowed what could only be described as a lake of slowly swirling molten lava. And sticking straight up from the very center of the fiery maelstrom was Queen Adrina’s spear.

  Mia’s heart pounded in her chest, and her breath quickened.

  At first, the lava and the spear within it was all she could see, and then her eyes adjusted elsewhere as a softly spoken, “Welcome. I’ve been expecting you,” from a distinctly female voice broke her trance.

  Sen Jeasa Mooktar wasn’t anything like Mia had expected. Where most ogres were very large boned and obese, the Sen Jeasa really wasn’t. Not that she wasn’t ogre through and through, for without a doubt she was. Her coloring, her almost complete lack of body hair, her prominent canines, and the fact that her pasty-white jowls swung freely on both sides of her pasty-white face with every movement she made attested boldly to her nationality.

  But where most ogres were very fleshy, the Sen Jeasa was almost petite. And where most ogres were at least seven feet if not more, this woman was no taller than her own five-foot-five. Perhaps, it was because the shaman was frail, wrinkled, and bent over with age. Though if the aura of confidence radiating outward from all around her was any indication, her obvious advanced age hadn’t slowed the Sen Jeasa down one bit.

  And though her twenty or so strands of faded red hair fashioned just like Ohfeelya’s in a tight little bun on the top of her head competed unsuccessfully for attention with the bright red lava swirling all about, Mia had the strangest feeling the Sen Jeasa had never had to compete with anyone or anything in any way in order to claim her rightful place. She’d been born to be precisely where she was this very moment. As if destiny itself had placed a crown of leadership upon her weathered head.