by Houpt, David
Which the ogre would probably forget to feed him, poor sod, he thought to himself.
Lifting Gem, he placed her flat against the bear. She began thrumming, and a blue glow suffused the bear’s form, concentrating to a deep, royal blue at the two arrow holes. The bear’s breathing immediately became deeper. The thrumming continued for nearly five minutes, stopping only when the bear’s eyes snapped open.
It spotted Lian, and tried to twist and lunge at him, but the ogre grabbed its foreleg and said, “No, Snarl! He be friend!” Lian backed well away from the bear, which continued to struggle against the ogre’s strength.
The ogre wrestled with the bear for a few moments, before his panic faded and he began snuffling at the remains of the tears on the ogre’s face. Teg was sporting several deep scratches on his arms from the bear’s three-inch claws, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He was babbling happy nonsense to his friend, and Lian smiled. Tell me you aren’t glad we helped the poor beast, he dared his companion.
All right, but I still say we needed to consume the power I spent, the blade replied. Have I mentioned recently that you’re a good lad?
He chuckled. I’ll remind you of that next time I disappoint you. He sheathed the sword and turned to go.
“Wait!” said Teg. “Where you be goin’?” The ogre struggled to his full height, twelve feet above the forest floor. The happiness on his face did much to alleviate the natural ugliness of his race.
Snarl took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip away from the ogre, and bounded over to Lian before he could even lay hand to his sword. Rather than trying to hurt him, however, the bear knocked him to the ground and proceeded to lick his face. Lian could hear the ogre laughing.
“Teg!” he shouted. “Teg! Get him off me, okay?” Lian was laughing too, for he was completely helpless under the bear’s merciless onslaught.
“Snarl! You lets him up now!” the ogre commanded, and much to Lian’s surprise, the bear did so, with just one more swipe of his long tongue. Bounding back to the ogre like a puppy on a growth potion, Snarl circled his friend several times before rising up on his hind legs to hug him. At full height, the bear came up to the ogre’s neck.
“He does what you tell him?” Lian asked, amazed.
“Uh-huh. He be good bear. I talks to he head when I tells him stuff,” the ogre said, accepting the bear’s sodden ministrations gleefully. Suddenly he looked stricken. “I’s not ‘posed to tell you that.”
He’s an animal telepath, at least for bears, Gem guessed. Ogres generally kill the young who demonstrate such abilities.
Lian didn’t remind his sometime teacher that he’d read the same treatises on ogres and their superstitions himself. “That’s okay, Teg. Some of my best friends speak to my head sometimes.”
His eyes got wide again. “They does? ‘N it be okay?”
“Sure, it is. Some people get scared about that kind of stuff, but not where I come from,” he said. “Look, Teg, I have to get moving soon. There’s something bad coming after me, and I have to stay ahead of it.”
The ogre nodded, turning to a thorn bush and rooting around in it. The thorns broke off, but weren’t able to penetrate the ogre’s tough hide. He picked up a large bag made of pigskin and slung it over his head. Then he picked up a huge club with two iron bands around its business end and propped it on his shoulder.
“Okay, little friend,” he said, patting his hip. Snarl came to heel at his side. “We is ready to be goin’ with you.”
Lian smiled at this unforeseen turn of events. “The thing following me is Undead, Teg.”
Lian, that club is enchanted, Gem said.
The ogre shrugged. “He be somethin’ I can club, he get a hurtin’. If not, we runs with you. We is fast, not like trolls.”
Lian shrugged and said, “Okay. But if you don’t like the looks of him when he catches up, you go ahead and leave, all right?”
“Sure. Snarl ‘n me not be fearin’ much. We’s be brave,” the ogre said, approaching to stand over Lian. Teg patted his head gently, which surprisingly didn’t pound Lian into the ground.
“You save me’s bestest friend. You is me’s bestest friend, too,” he said simply.
We can certainly use the help, if only temporarily, Gem said.
I agree, but I hate to save his pet only to put the creature in danger again. Not much I can do about it, though. It’s not like I can knock Teg on the head and leave him braced against a tree.
“Let’s go, then. I’m Alan, by the way,” he said, heading toward Greythorn City.
“Snarl, this be Alan,” the ogre said, keeping pace with Lian. “You be good for him, okay?”
Lian almost swore that the bear nodded.
Chapter Nine
“The development of Dunshor began over a thousand years ago when the white-robed mage Krysa came to the small rural community of Dun Shire. Seeking a location to establish a school of wizardry, he found the shire to be an ideal site, far from civilization. He built a tower near the village center and began accepting students. Pious and highly ethical, Krysa instructed his apprentices in the philosophies of white magic. The presence of the school attracted outsiders, and the town grew and prospered.
It was a good beginning.”
-- From “A History of the Theocracy of Krysa” by the Sage Alionur
“So how did Snarl get shot, anyway?” Lian asked as they hiked through the deepening shadows. The ogre was leading them to a stream so they could wash the blood off the bear. Lian, who had made the suggestion, hoped that the ogre would wash himself off, too.
Teg shrugged. “I dunno. Him was wanderin’ by hisself, and I finded him like that. He not movin’ when I’s finds him.”
The incident bothered Lian, since people generally wouldn’t shoot at a bear unless it was directly threatening them. An angered bear was not usually worth the trouble. Also, the arrows hadn’t hit any vital spots, lodging instead in muscle tissue.
“Would he go near humans?”
Teg shook his great head. “Oh, no. I tells him lots of times no go near humans. Saul telled me to.”
“Who’s Saul?” asked Lian.
Teg smiled. “Him is my friend, too. He live in Greythorn, and he help Teg sometimes. He know lots of stuff. He has a bow, but he like Snarl and Teg. He not be the one who shotted my bear,” the ogre said somberly to Lian.
Lian said, “I’m sure he isn’t, Teg. Is he a ranger?”
“I dunno what that be. He goes ‘round helpin’ people ‘n stuff. The druid likeses him, too.”
“Greythorn has a druid?” he asked, surprised. The ancient religion had been suppressed by the Theocracy, since it opposed the mages’ use of the land to fuel their spells.
The ogre nodded. “Yep. He be a bear, but he not be Snarl. Maybe we see him and I ‘troduce you.”
Druids were usually not concerned with people so much as with the land itself, and druidism wasn’t a very popular faith in Dunshor. There were sects that were more humanocentric in western lands that sounded to Lian as if they were a combination of the ancient faith and more recent religions.
Teg’s statement that the druid was a bear might mean that he was a man who wandered the forest in bear-shape, or it could be the literal truth. It was not unknown for a creature to become awakened by the spirit of the land and take up the role of druid. Most of the latter kind of druids were hostile to humanoids, since men and goblins both did a fair amount of damage when they moved in.
The air surrounding them began to get misty, the fog thickening as they neared their goal. They could hear water gurgling, and several deer burst from hiding ahead of them, bounding away into the mist. Their passage became quiet eerily fast, muffled by the mist. They continued onward for half an hour after seeing the deer.
The stream that Teg had promised was a natural spring, and the water bubbled from the ground in dozens of places, feeding together. There was an old stone building near the water’s edge, with a streamlet
of water coming out from a passage cut into the wall.
The area was enveloped in thick fog; the water coming from the ground was ice cold. As they approached, Teg and Snarl both walked more softly, and Lian followed suit. Again despite his bulk, the ogre was surprisingly quiet, making less noise in his passage than the bear did.
That’s why they have a reputation for successful ambushes, Lian thought.
The bear sniffed the air, and nudged Teg with his paw. Teg looked down at his friend, then pointed toward the building. He then pointed at Gem.
Lian drew his weapon as quietly as he could. Can you sense anything? he asked the blade.
No, but the bear certainly smells something. Teg doesn’t seem particularly worried, however, Gem observed.
They approached the springhouse cautiously. The doorway was on the opposite, upstream side. The steady noise of water flowing over rocks masked the noise of their advance. As they got closer, Lian heard crooning. It seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t place it.
Do you recognize that? he asked Gem.
Before she could answer, a guttural voice said, “That’ll fix ‘em, Snog!” in Govlikel, the goblinish tongue. Gem understood that language, and provided an immediate translation to her wielder. Teg and Snarl both froze instantly, and Teg unlimbered his club in absolute silence.
A second, somewhat worried-sounding voice replied in the same language, “Let’s get out of here, Lesh. That druid’s not gonna be happy.”
Lian didn’t know what they’d been doing in the springhouse, but he assumed that they worked for the same necromancer who sent the knight after them. It was Lian’s opinion that two goblin tribes wouldn’t be operating this close together peacefully. Furthermore, a goblin chief would never order an action that angered a druid. The vengeance of the druidkind was legendary.
He pulled on Teg’s arm, and motioned the ogre to bring his head closer. Whispering low enough to be masked by the sound of the water, he said, “I need these guys alive, so we can find out what they’re doing here.”
Teg nodded sagely, and laid his club down slowly on a big rock before creeping around the landward side of the building. Snarl moved quietly toward the stream, for bears could plunge through water very quickly when they wanted to.
These two are pretty well trained, Lian, Gem said. You could certainly have done worse for companions. And I have the feeling that the big guy’s as loyal as a puppy.
Lian nodded mentally, approaching the gap in the building’s wall where the stream exited. It was easily large enough for a goblin to slip through, and he doubted they’d head for the door when they spotted the ogre. He took a position to strike, with Snarl waiting at the bottom of the small incline, ready to help the young man.
Teg snarled, and Lian heard the goblins shriek. “Shit! An ogre!” one shouted as Teg charged the doorway.
Lian spotted the head of the first goblin as it emerged from the springhouse. He heard one more shriek and the sound of a struggle as Teg grabbed the other one. Lian struck at the unprotected head with the flat of his blade, since he wasn’t in a position to hit the goblin with her pommel. The water absorbed most of the force of the blow, and the goblin scrambled down the incline along with the water, disoriented by the water and the blow and trying to spot his attacker. Looking upstream, he failed to see Snarl.
The waiting bear closed his powerful jaw on an outstretched arm and lifted the goblin, embracing him in a hug. Lian was trying to decide which of the goblins was screaming louder, when he heard Teg grunt in pain. This was followed by a sickening snapping noise and a muffled shriek. He ran around the side of the building, confident that the one the bear had nabbed would stay put.
“I’s okay, Alan,” said Teg, clutching an unconscious goblin in his hand like a limp rag doll. “I breaked him a little. I be sorry.” His captive’s wrist had snapped, and dangled nearly perpendicular to his arm. Teg calmly plucked the goblin’s dagger from where it had been embedded in his chest. The point and the last inch was crumpled, so Lian surmised that the goblin had struck a rib through the deep layers of muscle.
“It’s okay,” Lian said. He examined the blade, but it didn’t appear to be envenomed. He knew that the wound would already be closing, and the danger of infection for the ogre was minimal.
They moved down to the stream, where the other goblin was pleading with Snarl. In Govlikel, he was saying, “Nice bear. Nice bear. Put me down, okay? Nice bear.” His voice revealed him to be the one named Snog.
In Dunshor, Lian said, “You’re alive only because the bear was ordered to spare you. You have one chance to yield.”
The goblin was silent, obviously trying to decide if he should feign ignorance of the human tongue. Teg spoiled the ploy by announcing, “You speak Dunshor ‘cause you be scout.”
The goblin, beaten, glanced at his insignia and shrugged. In accented but accurate Dunshor, he said, “What are your terms, human?”
“No terms, scout. Surrender now, or I order the bear to bite down,” Lian replied calmly. Years of bandit suppression had exposed him to goblin raiders on several occasions, and he knew to deal from overpowering strength wherever possible. They didn’t respect much else.
“Will you spare my life and that of my assistant?” Snog requested, bargaining for an assurance. Lian noted that the other goblin appeared to be wearing a superior cut of uniform, which made it likely that Snog was the assistant and not vice versa.
“If I decide to. Time’s up. Snarl,” he began, pitching his voice commandingly.
The goblin, unaware that it was actually the ogre who commanded the bear, spoke hastily, “I yield! I yield!”
Lian approached the goblin, still secure in the bear’s grasp. Leveling Gem at his throat, he commanded, “Put him down, Snarl.” Sure hope Teg tells him to do it, or I’ll look like an idiot, he commented to Gem.
The goblin regarded the gleaming lashthirin blade before him, swallowing quietly. The bear set him down, none too gently, and he lost his footing, ending up sputtering in the stream.
“N-nice blade, my lord. Good workmanship,” he stuttered as he slowly climbed to his feet. Keeping a wary eye on both the bear and the ogre, he unbuckled his weapon belt and tossed it onto a rock, out of the water. Goblins appreciated fine weaponry, and Lian was aware that one of his clansmen would certainly recognize Gem from his description. He decided he’d deal with that later.
“Hold him, Teg,” he said, pulling the goblin’s sack from his shoulder. The big ogre laid a firm hand on the goblin’s head, and judging from Snog’s wince he must have applied some pressure.
Lian inspected the contents of the sack, finding several empty glass jars as well as an array of mundane equipment. Removing a length of pale rope, he motioned the goblin up the incline.
“Spider silk, eh?” Lian remarked. “What clan you trade this from?”
The goblin replied, “What makes you think that we didn’t raise the spiders ourselves?” as he obligingly positioned himself against a large tree when Lian indicated it.
“Teg, take yours to the other side of the tree,” Lian said, and began to tie the goblins’ arms together. He tried not wince as the first goblin’s broken bones ground against each other, but he tied them together by their wrists, arranging them on opposite sides of the tree, facing away from each other. The tree was large enough that the two goblins wouldn’t be able to reach each other’s hands.
“Forgive the observation, milord,” said Snog, “but you’re rather new at this, aren’t you?” His eyes glittered as he watched his captor tie his wrists. The gleam faded, however, as he noted how well the young human did the job.
Thank you again, Elowyn, he thought, grateful for the elf’s exacting lessons, even in the art of tying knots.
He smiled thinly at the goblin, drawing his sword once again. “It pains me to see any being suffer, scout. That doesn’t mean you are safe, however,” he added, jabbing the helpless creature in the right calf muscle with Gem’s point. Elowyn’s lessons had
also included the art of interrogation.
The goblin winced in pain but did not cry out. He said, “I meant no offense, lord. A rather unfortunate habit of mine, talking out of turn.”
Teg chuckled and accompanied the bear down to the spring to clean its earlier wounds. To his eyes, Lian’s knots must have seemed both magical and escape-proof.
“I believe you neglected to answer my question, scout. From which clan did you obtain the spider silk? Your clan raises rats,” Lian stated, pointing Gem suggestively at his other calf.
Snog reflexively pulled his left leg away from the sharp point of the sword. “You know us, then? I’m not aware of any Greythorn noblemen matching your description, milord.”
Lian sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes slightly. Without further warning, he stabbed the other calf. “The next time, I’ll arrange for you a future as a fine goblin wife. Kvestal?” he asked, using the Govlikel word for understand.
“Sri kvestan, li dor staleki,” the goblin replied.
Yes, milord, I understand, Gem supplied helpfully.
I figured that one out, but thanks, he replied. He nodded curtly to the scout.
“We trade for the rope, among other things, from Sh’rek k’lass’rik. They are a deep cave clan, and have little to do with surfacers,” Snog said.
Lian had not heard of this clan, whose name translated as Silent Fangs or Stealthy Fangs. From the status the name implied, he guessed that it was a quite large and powerful clan. “What do your people have to offer such a powerful clan?” he asked, making the assumption that Snog’s clan wouldn’t be working for a necromancer if they possessed any status of their own.
Snog’s eyes narrowed as he reassessed his captor. “You are familiar with A’kra Vilsha? Who are you, lord?”
A’kra Vilsha means Hand of Death, Gem said. Lian acknowledged her and raised the blade to the goblin’s groin.
The scout realized his error and quickly said, “We trade in Truesilver, great one!” Lian lowered the blade, but only fractionally.
