by M. Gregg Roe
Just what had they been looking at?
“Would you like to see the living quarters here?” Audrey asked her. “That’s where Andoran stayed when he was seducing women who were driven to bring a brooch here.”
“Sadly,” Marilee added, “it’s not a joke. You should hear the stories some of the others tell.” She waved a leg at them. “I’d best get back to work. Take care.”
“That is all so strange,” Rosalind said, shaking her head as she watched Marilee spin away down a corridor.
“Andoran wasn’t normal,” Audrey said as she led the woman down another corridor. “I still have mixed feelings about being descended from him, but it means that all the crystalloids are my relatives.”
“That’s true,” Rosalind said, sounding surprised. “It’s wonderful that you still have your mother and a grandmother to talk to.”
It was nice. But it still didn’t excuse the man’s execrable behavior.
Audrey gave Rosalind the full tour, including the kitchen, dining room, bedroom, and bathroom. Considering who the rooms had been made for, they were surprisingly mundane, with little in the way of ornamentation.
“This will be Andora’s home base,” Audrey explained as they returned to the seven-sided sitting room. “I’ll keep her costume here. Once I take up a new identity, I’ll store some of my things here. Actually, I’ll transport some items here once I move to Zardis.” That included the magical gauntlet, which was something else that could be used to augment Andora’s look. It would also be handy if there was a need to punch through the wall of the castle.
Rosalind nodded her approval. “Thank you for showing me all this. I’m ready to go back.”
After taking the woman home, Audrey returned and spent time in one of the observation rooms, examining both the castle and its surroundings. Even though Mardan was in charge of planning the defense, she also needed to be ready. Time was growing short.
[ 37 ]
Combat Training
Standing relaxed with his arms clasped behind his back, Gabriel surveyed his fighting force. The ogres weren’t trained to fight as a unit, but neither were members of the Witch’s City Guard. Never having been part of an army himself, he had been reading up on the subject and asking his father for advice. Fortunately, he would only be commanding a squad.
In answer to his gesture, Marva left the others and walked over to him. The black cloth tied around her left upper arm designated her as the leader of the other nineteen. She was young, as were most of the others.
“Yes?” she asked, looming over him with an eager look.
“About the armor,” he said, looking up at her face. “Was any of it actually made for the person wearing it?”
Marva was taken aback. “Mine was originally made for my grandmother. It is a little loose,” she confessed in a voice that sounded feminine despite being deeper than his.
“Why don’t we dispense with the armor for now?” he suggested. He wanted to say more, but she was already shouting orders as she ran back over to her comrades.
Their armor, which incorporated both pieces of boiled leather and strips of wood, looked both old and poorly maintained. Each ogre had also brought along a sturdy oak club, a yew longbow, and a quiver of arrows. The ogres that he had encountered before (and fought) typically used javelins when attacking from a distance. Bows required more skill but had far greater range, especially when wielded by creatures so strong.
Marva returned without the armor but still wearing brown padded clothing that was old and worn. She listened quietly as he outlined his plan for them to demonstrate their archery skills, then raced off again. Well, he couldn’t fault her enthusiasm.
The ogres had no difficulty with the hundred-yard distance, but their accuracy was another matter. Only three of them could consistently hit the straw bales they were aiming at. He suspected that part of the problem was a mismatch between the bow’s pull and the ogre’s strength. Another talk with Marva soon had some of them swapping bows. That seemed to help, but they soon had to quit because they needed to retrieve their arrows.
Hearing someone approaching from behind, he turned and saw that it was a middle-aged elf with a neatly trimmed beard, clad in a smart-looking dark brown cloak. “You must be Ferikellan,” Gabriel said to him, hoping that he had the pronunciation correct.
“And you would be Gabriel,” the elf replied in a melodic voice. “Birchbark mentioned that you would be coming here.”
“Audrey brought me here last night. I will be staying for two days.” That was all he could spare from his duties at the moment.
Ferikellan gestured politely. “Rosalind speaks well of you. Perhaps you might dine with us this evening? Our gworn are excellent cooks.”
“I would be happy to,” he replied. He would let Fern know about his plans when he returned to the house for lunch.
“You look more the warrior than any of them,” Ferikellan remarked, nodding toward where the ogres were still searching for stray arrows. They would probably never find some of them.
Gabriel was, in fact, wearing his chainmail and sword. He had even brought along his helmet and shield. “These days I mostly battle paperwork,” he said wistfully. “That is why I welcomed this opportunity.”
“Opportunity,” Ferikellan repeated, rubbing his beard. “I worried when Audrey brought me here, but this has certainly provided me with new opportunities. I always dreamed of finding a wealthy patron.”
Even now, Gabriel knew Audrey didn’t think of herself as wealthy. It just wasn’t in her nature. “Did you also hope to find a research partner?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
Ferikellan’s cheeks colored slightly. “That, I must admit, was unexpected. But I am grateful for that as well. Rosalind’s talents compliment my own.”
The twang of bowstrings indicated that the ogres had resumed shooting. Marva strode back and forth behind the others, calling out suggestions and encouragement. This time nearly half of the arrows struck the bales. That was encouraging.
“Rosalind is reticent about some areas of her past,” Ferikellan said, after the ogres exhausted their arrows and once again went to retrieve them. “Perhaps you might enlighten me?”
Gabriel turned to face the elf, noting his serious expression. “Has she mentioned working as a shop clerk?” he asked.
“Yes. She said that was where she first encountered Saxloc, and that it was her pursuit of him that led to the revelation that she was a spell-caster. There is more to it, is there not?”
There was. Rosalind’s abrupt departure from the shop had unexpected ramifications. Her employer was secretly working for the Zardis Thieves’ Guild, and he had mistakenly concluded that he had been found out. The alchemic traps he left behind had destroyed both his shop and home, resulting in the permanent deaths of two people. The villain had then fled the city and not been seen since.
Ferikellan nodded gravely when Gabriel finished his explanation. “I can understand why Rosalind wishes to put that behind her. And I certainly will not mention it to her.”
“That would be best. She is a very different person now.” Well, in some ways. “Does she still have all of those wood carvings depicting cats?”
“She does indeed,” Ferikellan answered, amused. “You will find them proudly displayed on shelves in her room.”
That was good to hear. “If you will excuse me,” Gabriel said, “I need to return to my duties.”
“Then I will see you this evening,” Ferikellan said before walking away.
After the next round of shooting ended, Gabriel walked over to where Marva was standing. He had them move the straw bales to varying distances before resuming their practice. There still weren’t many who were accurate at long range, but that wasn’t vital. They were more likely to be shooting at enemies who were charging at them.
After another round of shooting was complete, Marva asked him, “What now?”
Gabriel eyed the position of the sun in the cloudy sky. “We break for
lunch. This afternoon we will switch to using clubs.”
With a joyous expression, Marva ran off to tell the others.
A club was one of the most basic weapons. All you needed to create one was a sharp axe and a chunk of wood—preferably hardwood. One end needed to be narrow enough to grip firmly, but the shape of the larger end could vary widely. Clubs were blunt weapons, ideal for bashing in heads or breaking bones. Anyone could use one without training, but they were most effective when wielded by someone both tall and strong.
Gabriel had considered starting off by fighting a practice bout against Marva, with him using a sword and shield against her club. Now, after witnessing the ogres’ club-wielding prowess, he was glad that he hadn’t. It was like they had been born to use the weapons. Even the least experienced ogres had decent skills. The more experienced used their clubs to both strike and deflect blows, sometimes even jabbing an opponent with the rounded head of the weapon. A few were ambidextrous, switching hands whenever it suited them. Watching the practice bouts gave him a warm feeling. Now the ogres truly looked like warriors. He would be proud to lead them into battle, should it prove necessary.
When Birchbark arrived, Gabriel spoke to him about the issues with the ogres’ armor, most of which was still lying in heaps off to the side.
“I see what you mean about their armor,” Birchbark said, scratching at his beard. “The leather needs to be treated and the wood pieces replaced. Unfortunately, there really isn’t anyone with the proper skills living here.”
“Aside from yourself,” Gabriel said, turning his gaze back to the ogres. He knew that Birchbark had worn leather armor in his adventuring days.
“I do know a few things” Birchbark admitted, “but don’t expect miracles. I’ll see what I can do to improve the fit, maybe by swapping pieces around. Actually, it might be best to just eliminate the arm and leg pieces. Protecting the torso is what really matters.”
“I will leave it to you,” Gabriel told him. Anything would be an improvement.
“And I will hope that nothing dangerous comes out of Audrey’s crazy castle.” Birchbark turned and strode off toward his home.
He mulled it over as he continued to observe. In a way, he hoped that something dangerous did emerge. It would be a chance to show his skill, not only as a warrior but as a commander of warriors. And to do so in the presence of his father. What son wouldn’t want that?
Adventures had frequently brought opportunities for him to test his combat skills. Over the years he had battled a variety of opponents. That wasn’t to say that he had always triumphed; he had nearly died on several occasions. (That was why one adventured as part of a group.) But even in failure, there had been lessons to be learned. With each encounter he had grown stronger, honed his combat skills, bettered himself. Such opportunities were rare now.
During the rest of the afternoon, Gabriel introduced variations. He quickly learned that the ogres didn’t do well when fighting side by side or back to back. They needed at least a few yards of separation, otherwise they interfered with each other. In that respect, they were like their primitive counterparts.
To change things up, he ordered two more rounds of archery practice. Then he addressed them as a group, praising their efforts before dismissing them for the day. They appeared to be in good spirits as they scattered to their assorted homes, and he felt that way himself as he strolled back to Birchbark and Fern’s house. The first day of training was complete.
Gabriel woke to the sound of rain striking the window shutters. He sat up and found that he had a slight headache, no doubt a result of drinking a little too much of the excellent grape wine that had accompanied dinner. After pulling the quilt aside, he climbed out of bed and performed a few simple stretches. Next was making use of the washroom and getting dressed.
Last evening had been an interesting experience. The two gworn had provided both tasty food and excellent service. Gabriel, Rosalind, and Ferikellan had conversed on a variety of topics. After dinner had been a tour of their laboratory and an explanation of their work that he found interesting despite not understanding parts of it. The two of them seemed quite at home in the Triangular Keep. And with each other.
Over breakfast, Birchbark told him that the rain should stop by late afternoon and would remain light. The precipitation was a complication, but weather was something that warriors had to deal with. It would reduce visibility and hamper movement.
It was noticeably chilly as he made his way to the clear area south of the village. Most of the ogres were already there, huddled under oak trees that were just beginning to bud. Predictably, Marva trotted up to intercept him, looking as eager as ever. Keeping his voice low, he told her his plans.
“Command structure?” she asked, furrowing her large brow. Like the others, she had arrived without armor but clad in a dark brown cloak that appeared to be waterproof. He was attired similarly, not seeing the point of donning his chainmail.
Looking her in the eye, he said, “Marva. I hereby confer upon you the honorary rank of sergeant. I want you to appoint three of the others to be your corporals.” Then, reading her confusion, he explained exactly what those ranks meant. She was smiling again as she went over to make her selections.
He had decided that the ogres were more of a scouting force than an army unit. That was also a better match for their fighting style. Despite that, they needed to take direction when necessary. He didn’t want them running amok as soon as battle was joined.
After Sergeant Marva had made her choices, he addressed them. He began by explaining the concept of formations. He wanted for them to be able to split into small groups, or even spread out along a long line. (He knew that from personal experience that a single group was too vulnerable to being struck by wide-area magical attacks.) The ogres quickly grasped the concept, but execution was another matter. He started by putting them in a five-wide rectangular formation that had the best archers in the second and third rows. Marva, stationed in the center of the second row, soon had them marching around and even executing turns. They were a bit sloppy, but that really wasn’t important. It was all about following orders.
Next was splitting into four five-ogre groups, each with at least two decent archers. He told Marva what he wanted and let her figure it out. (She would be the one drilling them after he departed.) The first attempt resulted in several collisions and a great deal of confusion. But she was quick on the uptake. She rearranged the rectangular formation so that the four sub-units could split apart neatly. Gabriel gave her an approving nod when the second attempt went relatively smoothly.
The rest of the morning, during which it continued to lightly rain, was spent learning two other formations and smoothly transitioning between them. By noon, when they broke for lunch, he felt they were reasonably competent.
That afternoon, instead of making the ogres continue to train outside, Gabriel led them to a large building used both for meetings and storage. After having the ogres seat themselves on the wooden floor, he lectured them about what would happen when it was close to time to complete the castle. They would be tasked with building the camp where both they and others, including Gabriel, would stay. Others in the village were already hard at work, making tents and other necessary items.
Drawing on his own experiences, Gabriel discussed scenarios for what might occur. He not only discussed fighting tactics, but how to handle various things that might go wrong, including some of them being wounded or even killed. That drove home the fact that this wasn’t just some game.
He was fielding questions when he noticed Audrey enter. She nodded at him, then leaned against the wall just to the side of the door. After answering three more questions, he thanked the ogres and dismissed them. As they filed out, each one greeted Audrey by her title, and she nodded in return. Marva, however, remained behind.
“You’re not coming back?” she asked him, definitely looking worried.
“Probably not. Just continue to practice until it is tim
e.”
“You’ll do fine, Marva,” Audrey said, walking over. “And if you need to reach Gabriel, then Ferikellan and Rosalind can contact me.”
Marva stepped back and bowed deeply. “Thank you, Guardian. We won’t let you down.”
After the ogress had departed the building, Audrey said, “I keep feeling like I should learn all of their names.”
“That is unnecessary,” he opined. “It suffices to learn the names of those you work with directly.”
“Which isn’t very many. Okay. I’ll stop worrying about it.” She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “So, what’s the verdict on my ogre army? Are they ready?”
With a straight face, he said, “Their skills are adequate, but I do not believe that we should rely on them to save us should events go awry.”
She chuckled and spread her arms. “If we need them to save us, then we’re probably all doomed. Birchbark is our first line of defense, as your father calls it. If it’s looking dangerous, then he’ll unleash the power of the EarthStaff. He’ll make earthquakes, summon earth elementals—that kind of thing.”
The man could also control the weather, including being able to call down bolts of lightning. Birchbark was indeed formidable.
“What of yourself?” he asked. He still didn’t know the full extent of Audrey’s powers.
“I’m the second line of defense,” she said brightly. “If necessary, I’ll rain down destruction from above. Or teleport inside. And then there are the constructs.”
That just confirmed that his ogres had been relegated to a supporting role, but that was to be expected.
“I just hope that lots of little nasty things don’t come pouring out,” she said. “That would be the worst.”
It would indeed be difficult to contain such an assault. “It would be worse if they can fly,” he pointed out.
She laughed, then added, “And even worse if they’re invisible.”
