Whom The Gods Love

by M. M. Perry

  Oaten chuckled.

  “While I applaud your bravery… or is it stupidity? It’s often so hard to tell those apart, in those rare instances where they aren’t one in the same. In any case, I find it impossible to disagree with your Queen Mother. It hardly seems prudent to risk your life for your wife’s. Another wife could be found for you, surely. I hear that one of the princesses from Woodside is blind, perhaps she’d have you? Regardless, somewhere there’s certainly someone who would, I am fairly certain. This risking your own life for your common wife’s, it reeks of desperation and is unbecoming a king, even from a kingdom as insignificant as yours. You are lowering the bar for all of us. Your blood is royal, despite how thin it may be in comparison to a lineage as noble as my own. Hers is not. A new brood mother could be found. Another heir of the fabled Hargondy bloodline cannot.”

  “I find it increasingly difficult to see what business this is of yours,” Callan snapped.

  Oaten frowned mockingly in reply, which only served to goad Callan further.

  “Oh dear,” Oaten adopted a voice infused with feigned affront, “now you’ve gone and ruined what had been adding up to be an unusually pleasant exchange, at least between us. Well, I suppose that means I must get to the point. I know you need something from me, or else you wouldn’t be here. I have a good guess at what it is. Of course, tradition—you know that all kings are slaves to their kingdom’s traditions...”

  “Can we just get on with it,” Callan asked. He’d given up on affecting civility, as it was clearly getting him nowhere with Oaten.

  “Oh you are no fun,” Oaten said pouting, “I was hoping to have you guess at the task I’d require of you. I was even willing to offer you a chance to get by without performing it, could you guess it within three tries. But since you’re in such a rush, you’ll just have to go out and do it. I’d like you to take care of a nuisance I’ve been putting up with for far too long. Once you have done that, I’ll let you use Coterman’s Pass,” Oaten was clearly enjoying drawing this out, watching the apprehension growing on Callan’s face.

  “I want you to kill an ogre for me,” Oaten finished.

  Callan’s mouth dropped open, “An ogre?”

  “Yes I know. Uninspired and rather mundane, hardly befitting a king. But it’s my understanding you are in quite the hurry, so I’ve decided to be benevolent,” Oaten said.

  Despite his claim otherwise, it was clear to the party that the king was being anything but kind. Cass shot a quick look at Gunnarr, and they exchanged confused looks. Callan had told them that he and Oaten didn’t get along all that well, but saddling him with the task of ogre-slaying spoke to a level of animosity that Callan hadn’t even hinted at. King Oaten stood and gestured to a man that had been standing in the corner of the room unnoticed up until now.

  “I believe our business is finished for the time being, and it’s time for tea anyway. You can get the details from my chancellor. He’ll tell you where to find the ogre. No need to bother me when you report back, that is if, you complete your task. Just tell my chancellor. Oh, do make sure you bring back some proof of the deed. Can’t have people saying I went easy on you just because you’re a fellow monarch, now can we? When you do, he’ll instruct the guards to let you through to the Tam River,” Oaten said.

  Oaten stood then which, given his shortness, required he half hop down out of his throne first. The party bowed again, Callan being the last to join them in doing so, and didn’t rise again until Oaten had left the throne room. The chancellor approached Callan then and thrust a bundle of paper at him. Callan looked at the bundle, momentarily confused and still in shock at the daunting task Oaten had laid before him so flippantly.

  “It is the messages for you, your highness, from Faylendar,” the chancellor again managed to tread a fine line, ladling a hint of mockery into the phrase ‘your highness,’ yet not enough for anyone to object to.

  “You may use the royal aviary to respond if you wish,” the chancellor finished.

  “Thank you,” Callan said, still too shocked to rise to the barb as he took the letters. They were carefully stacked and intricately bound together with a silk ribbon. All had been opened and read, despite most being addressed to Callan.

  The chancellor then escorted them all back out of the throne room, down the hall, and to the ante-chamber, where he closed the door on them without another word. He didn’t deign to waste another breath on them, as he didn’t expect to see these troublesome, uncouth Faylendarians ever again. He was certain they’d meet some horrible fate at the hands of the ogre, one he dared not even imagine.

  Cass turned to Driscol and gave him a hug.

  “I think this is where we part ways, pops,” she said. “Thanks for everything. You’ve been a huge help.”

  “You take care of yourself, little Cass. I will be at Foothill Settlement, if you need anything else, for a while still. My package probably won’t be here for some more days,” Driscol said.

  As Driscol was leaving, he stopped as he passed Gunnarr, patting the huge Braldashad man on the shoulder.

  He gave Gunnarr a consoling silent look for several seconds. A silent understanding passed between them, impenetrable to everyone else in the party, save Cass. “And when you need help, you come ask, too.” Driscol lowered his voice and added, “I know people pretty good at finding lost things.”

  Gunnarr nodded and gave Driscol a tight smile before the older man turned to leave. If Callan hadn’t known any better, he’d have sworn the two big warriors were on the verge of tears for a moment. He decided he’d never get a grasp on the warrior’s code. After all, the warrior had just told him a few days ago how all warriors go to every mission knowing it might end in their death. He wondered why this particular task, as daunting as facing an ogre was, would bring the two men to the verge of tears. Before he could comment on it, the moment passed, and Gunnarr returned to his normal grim-faced seriousness. Cass watched Driscoll go, and Callan noted a look of longing on her own face as well. She roused herself after Driscol disappeared out the antechamber and into the castle’s grand entrance, and turned to Callan.

  “Well, unless you want to post a letter first, let’s go kill us an ogre,” she said trying to sound cheery, “how hard can that be?”

  Before they left the castle, a helpful courtier who had an idea about the mischief King Oaten had been planning, caught up with the group and gave them a map and some advice.

  “Don’t look it in the eye. Apparently, he hates that. Enrages him like nothing else. Took us several squads and a few knights to learn that,” the courtier said, with somewhat less gravity than Callan felt such a pronouncement deserved.

  After he had spoken with them as briefly as he could, the helpful courtier, concerned Oaten would find out he had helped even in this minor way and be banned from court, ushered them out of the castle back into the city proper. While Cass examined the map they’d been given, Callan flipped through the letters, hoping to find one from Melody, but finding only a mix of frantic and angry missives from his mother. He quickly scanned her letters and grew increasingly angry when he realized that she hadn’t wasted a single word to update him on his wife’s illness. He tossed the letters in a nearby brazier with disgust. He scowled at them as they curled in the flames and disintegrated into flaky bits, floating away in the breeze.

  Cass’ attention was caught by the movement. She could see Callan was visibly upset.

  “Would you like us to wait, so you can find a scribe and draft a message for her?” she asked.

  “No. I already have a letter I’ve written in case… well, just in case. I don’t want my mother intercepting it and possibly keeping it from Melody out of spite. It’s in my pack. I was hoping one of you might take it to her, personally, after…” Callan’s voice faded out.

  Cass slapped him on the back reassuringly.

  “Don’t worry about that now. We’ve an ogre to kill, right?”

  “Right,” Callan said straightening his back. �
��So how do we do it?”

  “Oh, I know some things about ogres,” Nat offered brightly.

  Cass turned to him and nodded.

  “Good lad. Tell us what we need to know,” Cass said indulging the warrior in training.

  “Well, they’re big, and many take a liking to eating children, which has made them pretty unpopular most places. Their skin is really hard, almost like tree bark. Oh, and they’re cold blooded, so they move very slowly most of the time. Unless they’ve been warming themselves in the sun,” Nat said helpfully, “then they can be deadly fast.”

  “Your knowledge of ogre lore is excellent, young warrior,” Cass said encouragingly.

  Nat beamed at her.

  “From what I can see on this map on where they’ve seen and encountered the ogre before” she indicated a few marks, “I suspect this one has its den somewhere on the southern face of the mountain, there,” Cass pointed up to a rocky patch of mountain. It was far enough away that the group could only just make out the few scraggly trees clinging to the mountainside where Cass indicated.

  “The map doesn’t tell us exactly where to look?” Callan asked. “We’re just supposed to stumble around in the vicinity, yelling ‘Here, ogre, tasty new treats for you’?”

  “It isn’t the most helpful map I’ve ever seen,” Cass said, “but I suppose we should be grateful that we have even this hastily drawn up thing, considering the warmth of the reception we received from the king.”

  She offered the map to Callan, who took it and studied it for a moment.

  “This is a map?” he asked, tilting the map a little to better catch the light with it. “Half the words on this aren’t even legible. This looks like something drawn up by children. Drunken children. Drunken children with palsy who are trying to get us killed!” He thrust the map back to Cass, shooting an angry look back at the castle in Oaten’s general direction.

  Viola looked up towards their distant destination.

  “I wonder why they even care? I mean, any ogres up here probably feed on razorback calves. They’re in such abundance I can’t imagine any ogres would ever bother coming all the way down to the city just to snatch up children,” Viola said.

  “This one could have gone rogue. Sometimes, once they’ve had it, they get quite the taste for the flesh of bite-sized humans,” Inez said squinting into the light, “well, maybe two-bite sized humans.”

  The rest of the party grimaced at this thought, their imaginations providing more detail than any of them wanted.

  “Let’s just assume, for now, that it’s because the beast has been seen wandering too close to the city, and not because it’s been snacking on the population. Any ogre within a day’s walk of the city that’s proven itself to be violent, as this one has from what the chancellor tells us, would merit a hunt,” Cass said.

  She surveyed the party thoughtfully for a moment.

  “There is such a thing as too many cooks when it comes to ogre slaying. Viola, Inez and Callan, I suggest you stay here. There’s no reason to put any of you in harm’s way. With luck, we’ll be back in a few hours and ready to move on. You can wait for us at Ulma’s. Nat,” Cass said turning toward the young man, “If you’re up for it, you can come with Gunnarr and me. Just know that this isn’t going to be easy. Ogres are serious business. You could get hurt… or worse.”

  “A warrior never fears battle,” Nat said steadily, “so long as their cause is just and their weapon ready. And mine is. I would be honored to come.”

  Gunnarr smiled broadly at the young warrior.

  “You’re sure you don’t need me?” Viola asked. “I’m sure I could cook up something to help take on an ogre.”

  “I appreciate your bravery, but we’ll need you more when we get to the pass,” Cass said, “I can’t risk you against the ogre. If you fell to him, our journey would be over, even if we did manage to kill the creature.”

  Viola nodded and helped Inez back to the inn. Callan stayed a few minutes longer. He watched Cass and Gunnarr as they readied their things in preparation to head out. After they failed to take notice of him, he cleared his throat, which got their attention.

  “I just wanted to say, thank you. Again. You continue to come through for me. I know, you say it’s your duty, but still, thank you,” Callan said genuinely. “And good luck. All of you,” he added. Callan bowed to them, which Cass found simultaneously silly and endearing, then turned back to the inn.

  “Let’s get a move on,” Cass said, heading away from the inn.

  “Won’t we need our horses?” Nat asked.

  “No. Horses aren’t built for climbing mountains. Let’s go see about getting some goats,” Cass said.

  Gunnarr was gesticulating forcefully, haggling with the merchant while Cass and Nat stood by, but the shopkeeper was not budging, planting himself firmly, arms crossed, between Gunnarr and a stable full of large razorbacks.

  “Why won’t he lend us the goats?” Nat asked as he watched the exchange. “We are going out to kill an ogre, on the order of his king.”

  The merchant was speaking in a tongue Nat did not understand, but he could tell Gunnarr was having trouble even getting the merchant to agree to let them have the large goats, at any price. Cass glanced up at the mountain, imagining the ogre lurking in the shadows of its crags, waiting for them.

  “I suspect he’s afraid he won’t get them back. Training razorbacks for riding takes a great deal of time and determination. They are incredibly stubborn, contrary creatures. I imagine most of his business is in tourists who want to take a turn around the city,” Cass said, “not a trio of madmen rushing headlong into an ogre’s den.”

  Nat tapped Gunnarr on the elbow. “Tell him he’s losing business because of the ogre. That people… tourists won’t feel safe until the ogre is gone. Once it is, more people will want to go out, further, for longer periods. He might even be able to raise his rates. Tell him that we’ll tell everyone when we get back, especially the king, about the brave goat merchant who risked his livelihood by lending his mighty razorback steeds to the warriors that slew the ogre.”

  Gunnarr arched his eyebrow, considering Nat’s suggestion. The young man blushed a little at his own impetuousness. Then Gunnarr nodded and launched back into negotiations with the merchant. Cass reached out and tousled Nat’s hair. The goat merchant looked out at the mountainside then back at Cass and Gunnarr. After a moment, he shook his head with a small frown, but then trotted back into the stables and returned pulling three sturdy looking goats out.

  “That was quick thinking, young warrior,” Gunnarr said as he began examining the razorbacks. They were sturdy specimens, young and fit.

  Nat blushed even more deeply at the compliment.

  They each mounted a razorback, then practiced leading them around the yard, getting used to the wide animals. Once they all felt they had their animals in hand, Cass led them out of the city and to a mountain path indicated on the map the courtier had given them. The goats moved much more slowly than horses did, but were far more surefooted, climbing the rocky, uneven path with ease. Nat quickly felt his inner thighs straining against the side of his razorback, stuck in an uncomfortable position of being nearly straight out to either side. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but could find none. The goats were short and stout, not tall and sleek like a horse.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking up these tours,” Gunnarr said grumpily, nearly as uncomfortable as Nat. “I can’t think of a more awkward animal for riding.”

  “They are awful, aren’t they? Not particularly pleasant smelling beasts either,” Cass said wrinkling up her nose.

  For the next hour, the three of them constantly shifted on their beasts. At one point Cass even attempted to ride sidesaddle, which might have been more pleasant, but the tackle the merchant had provided wasn’t suited for it, and when she nearly slipped off it drew a hearty round of laughter from Nat and Gunnarr. However, as they grew closer to the place Cass guessed they’d find th
e ogre, the group grew somber and quiet.

  “There,” Gunnarr said quietly.

  Cass and Nat stopped their razorbacks and looked up the hill in the direction Gunnarr was pointing. On a flat slab of stone lie the ogre, stretched out and soaking up the sun. It was easily twice the height of Gunnarr, and so broad that Nat could have lain across the center of its chest and been unable to touch the ogre’s arms with either his hands or his feet. Its gray bark-like skin was dotted with small birds, all greedily picking parasites out of the creature’s many craggy folds of skin. The ogre rolled a little to give the winged pest control team a chance to peck at its back side. The ogre’s eyes remained closed as it moved languidly in the sun. It seemed quite peaceful from this distance, and Nat even felt a little sorry for it, since they’d be killing the beast in just a moment.

  “It doesn’t look very violent,” he said to Cass.

  “No, it doesn’t. It looks pretty much like any ogre in the wild. I see its nest there,” Cass said pointing to the left of the ogre.

  A small ring of stones had been piled up into a rough bowl shape. Inside were the remnants of what had clearly been razorbacks at one point, their huge horns peeking out over the lip of the nest. A carcass of a recently disemboweled razorback calf was draped across a larger boulder just outside the nest.

  “If it had taken any children, we should be able to find some human bones and bits of clothing strewn about. I see nothing but fur and horns,” Cass said.

  “Maybe it’s tucked those away,” Nat asked helpfully, “like a trophy?”

  “Doubtful,” Gunnarr said, “Once they’ve got a taste for human flesh, they rarely go back to what they hunted before. And when I asked the goat merchant about the ogre, he didn’t seem to know of any children disappearing. From the way he talked about it, he felt it was only a small nuisance. Of course, none of the tourists he tried to sell his trips to felt that way. It’s difficult to translate the word ogre into most languages in a way that conveys ‘not really that dangerous as long as you don’t raise its ire.’ That’s why he was so reluctant to give us the razorbacks. If the ogre had actually been hunting and killing people, there wouldn’t have been an argument. He would have gladly given us mounts.”