The blade was slender, hardly more than six inches. He had no illusions about winning. The Ogre was too big, too strong. He’d swung with all his might and barely managed to cut through the iron-like hide. The Ogre sensed his despair, taking the time to set his war bar down and taunt Kavan. Hot spittle drooled down from the corner of his mouth. Kavan caught the hesitancy and understood immediately. The monster wanted the challenge. Forcing a shallow breath, Kavan braced himself. This was going to hurt.
Roaring in challenge, the Ogre charged. It was all Kavan could do to stay on his feet as the ground quaked from each footstep. Rock and dust drifted down from the mountains, and the Ogre struck. His massive fist caught Kavan in his side and drove the knight into the rock wall. Kavan fell in a heap of bruised flesh. Fire burned his lungs. He struggled just to breathe. The Ogre stepped back and waited, like a cat toying with his prey. Stay down or get up, Kavan knew he was a dead man.
His vision swam as he struggled to rise to hands and knees. He clutched the tiny dagger, a miracle he still held on, tighter. Blood and phlegm spilled when he coughed. His entire body felt bruised, battered. Nothing in his warrior training had prepared him for the savage beating he was taking. No man had ever killed an Ogre in single combat. Trickery was his only option but one he thought of far too late. Kavan managed to rise on unsteady feet. The Ogre bellowed laughter. Kavan grinned fiercely in reply. Sensing the end was at hand, the mighty Ogre took slow, measured steps towards his wounded prey.
Kavan, for his part, was forced to place a steadying hand on the nearest rock face. The Ogre kept coming. Kavan let him, having little choice. The ground threatened to tear. Bruised arm hanging limp at his side, Kavan waited until the Ogre’s huge body blocked out the sun peeking over the ridge. He waited until all he saw was the bright golden armor charging to kill him. When he deemed the end was nigh, Kavan cast his dagger with all of the strength he had left.
The blade shrilled through the air and struck true before the Ogre could react. Ichor and blood erupted from the ruptured eye as the blade drove deep into the socket. Unbelievable pain shot through the Ogre’s head, and he screamed. The very sound threatened to bring down the heavens. The Ogre raged, arms flailing and thrashing wildly. Kavan was knocked to the ground again and tried to crawl away before being trampled. A large chunk of rock landed squarely on his back between the shoulder blades, pinning him to the ground and knocking him unconscious.
Howling in pain, the Ogre turned to see his meal stricken down. He roared at the body in an ancient tongue. The gods had stolen his chance for revenge. Reaching down to snatch Kavan up, the Ogre jerked upright suddenly. New pain, deeper than any he had ever felt, burrowed into his body. Turning, he spied another three Humans racing towards him with weapons barred.
A second arrow glanced off of his armor just under where the first was lodged. A wild looking maiden rode at the front of the group. In her hands was a spear meant to skewer creatures his size. The Ogre saw death and turned to flee. He dropped Kavan’s body and sprinted up into the crevasse leading to his caves. Behind him, the maiden let out a victorious whoop and halted her horse. That was her mistake, the Ogre thought. For he’d return to strike again as soon as the sun began to set. He retreated with murder on his mind.
SEVENTEEN
The Ogre’s Lair
Kavan awoke to intense pain. Every inch of body was sore. He didn’t want to move but knew he must if he wanted to live. The Ogre was toying with him or already had him trapped. Either way presented grave danger. All Kavan knew was that he had to get away and warn the others before it was too late. He tried to rise, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness took him again.
“I think he’s coming around.”
Kavan’s head felt horrible. The fierce pounding threatened to burst through his temples. Stars dazzled his vision each time he tried to open his eyes.
“That thing did a number on him. He’s lucky to be alive.”
He wasn’t sure who said what. Vague recognition entertained his thoughts. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Kavan swooned and passed out. When he awoke, it was to the sounds of fire crackling gently. He felt warm, dry. Surely, his mind was playing tricks.
“Well, come on then,” he managed to croak. “Finish me off already.”
He caught the soft chuckle of a feminine voice.
“There’ll be no finishing off today, Kavan. Relax and regain your strength. You were very nearly killed.”
“Aphere? Where am I?”
His surroundings slowly came into focus. The fire brightened the area enough to show him the walls of another cave.
She smiled, cupping his cheek. “Yes, it’s me. You’re fortunate to be alive. I haven’t seen one of them in years.”
“Mountain Ogre,” he struggled to say.
She snorted. “That was damned foolish to do alone.”
“Where?” he asked again.
“Gone. It ran off after Barum put an arrow in its throat. He and Pirneon are out hunting it now.”
Pirneon stalked up the bloodstained path. His eyes remained constant, searching, scanning. Barum was a few paces behind, arrow loosely nocked. They knew the Ogre was wounded, though how badly remained to be seen. The older knight smiled grimly when he came upon Kavan’s dagger lying beside a ruined eyeball. Kavan had given a good accounting of himself despite being impetuous. Pirneon pointed at the eye so Barum could see and gestured up a small crevasse.
“He’s gone back to his hole, most likely,” Pirneon whispered. “That will make him harder to hunt. We must be cautious.”
He knew from past studies that Ogres of any type were vicious and often vengeful. There was no doubt it would soon be coming back to finish Kavan off. Too, he couldn’t just walk away from such a severe threat. There was no telling how many innocent travelers the Ogre had already killed or how many more it would if Pirneon let it go. He tightened the grip on his spear and followed the blood trail deeper into the Ogre’s hole. The stench was overpowering. Untold years of rot and decay spoiled the air. Almost noxious fumes seeped from the ground. The Gaimosians backed away before it was too late.
“Place your kerchief over your mouth and nose,” Pirneon advised.
Barum finished tying his off and asked, “Do you think my arrow was successful?”
Pirneon shook his head. “No. Ogre’s have tough skin. It was a lucky shot you made to hit him in the throat, but I doubt your arrow did much more than anger him.”
Again, they entered the hole. The blood trail thinned before eventually fading away to a lifetime of grime and stains etched upon the stone. The light was dim, turning the tunnel entrance into a haunting scene. Pirneon listened for sounds of his prey but heard naught. They advanced. The ground grew slick. A small stream trickled down from the ceiling. The sheer stench of waste and filth turned Pirneon’s stomach. There was no doubt that this den belonged to the Ogre.
He pushed forward, hoping the rest of the hole wasn’t so bad. Pirneon didn’t slow until they came upon a small bend. He paused, again listening intently. Again, he was disappointed. The Gaimosian eased slowly ahead and was rewarded with a view of a large cavern. Small fires burned low across the floor. There was no immediate sign of the Ogre. Frustrated, he signaled Barum to follow. Once the squire had a clear line of fire, Pirneon took stock of the chamber.
There was a crudely made stone cot in the far corner. A bed, most likely. Large boulders clearly used for sitting circled one of the fires. A pile of old clothes and bones lay heaped along the near wall. Pirneon spied numerous glimmering objects. The Ogre’s horde. All of the treasure taken from countless victims through the years lay forgotten and unprotected. He edged closer, growing bolder. It was just beyond the fire that Pirneon felt his stomach lurch.
Thousands of bones littered the ground. Most were human, though several different animals were mixed in. A natural ledge running the length of the back wall made for a shelf that contained a row of polished skulls. The Ogre kept trophies. Pirneon was
disgusted. He’d seen the worst men had to offer, but this was unlike anything he’d ever witnessed.
“Help,” he heard a small voice groan.
Barum shifted aim effortlessly. Pirneon spun around and leveled his spear. Partially concealed behind a rounded boulder sat a small figure in a cage. He was naked and no more than two feet tall. Filth covered his body, and he had the look of having suffered great abuse. Rage consumed Pirneon, for at first glance the figure appeared no more than a child. Then he noticed the narrow eyes and pointed ears poking out from beneath mousey brown hair. The small face looked back at the knight with abject excitement. He reached out to grab the bars and began babbling.
“Oh, please. Please help me!”
“Who are you?” Pirneon asked, wary of a trap. Here, of all places, he wasn’t about to take unnecessary chances.
The small figure rose and said, “Geblin. I am a prisoner.”
“Why should we believe you? You could be a pet set here to lure us to our deaths,” Pirneon’s voice was hard.
Geblin appeared frantic. “You must believe me! He is coming back, and when he does, he will kill us all! Please! Free me, and I’ll show you the secret way out.”
Pirneon didn’t move. Part of him wanted to believe the story, but an equally large part wasn’t trusting. Still, he couldn’t abide any living creature being locked in a cage. He was about to order Barum to free Geblin when the little creature’s eyes went wide with fright.
“Behind you!” Geblin cried and curled up in a tight little ball.
Barum spun and fired. His arrow bounced off of the iron armor and skirted the rock face. Pirneon used the distraction to charge. The Ogre’s sheer mass was so great, Pirneon was hard pressed to strike any of the vital areas. Instead, he stabbed the spear for the Ogre’s unprotected groin. Barum fired twice more. The first shaft brushed past the tip of the Ogre’s nose while the second splintered against his skull.
“Waaugh!” Geblin cried above the din.
The Ogre kicked at Pirneon with a tree trunk of a leg longer than Pirneon’s spear. Pirneon’s reflexes saved him from being crushed under the monster’s heel. He used his momentum to dive forward, throwing down his spear and drawing his broadsword as he rolled and came up behind the Ogre. Pirneon slashed across the back of an exposed knee. Tissue and tendons ripped apart. The jagged lined shred the back of the Ogre’s leg even as Pirneon swiped across the other. The Ogre managed one step before crashing down.
Pirneon leapt onto his chest before the dust rose. He stabbed down hard, driving his blade into the Ogre’s leg and didn’t stop until he felt bone. The Ogre thrashed and rolled, trying desperately to get his hands on his murderer. Fast as the Ogre was, Pirneon was faster. He had his spear back in hand before while the Ogre remained disorientated. Barum rushed forward but was forced to leap back or risk being crushed beneath a calloused hand. The Ogre bellowed again. Geblin’s weak cries joined the chorus.
“Stay back!” Pirneon warned Barum.
The squire exhaled a deep breath and took aim with his long bow. The black feathered shaft thrummed free and sped the short distance to its target. Tempered steel drove into the Ogre’s exposed face, piercing his septum before bursting into the brain cavity. The Ogre let out a final roar of defiance before his tongue lopped out of the corner of his mouth as he died. Remorseless, Pirneon stabbed his spear through the Ogre’s throat to ensure it was dead.
“’Ware!” Kavan shouted and struggled to find a weapon he no longer had.
Aphere, startled by the outburst, laid a reassuring hand on his chest. “Be calm. You were having a dream.”
He tried to get up again and winced as extreme pain lanced through him.
“Stay still as much as possible. I think you’ve got a few broken ribs and possibly internal bleeding. You are fortunate to be alive.”
“I don’t feel fortunate. How long have I been out?” he asked.
“A few hours.”
“You didn’t need to stand watch,” he said, his tone suddenly turning…affectionate.
Aphere stiffened, turning back to the mountain pass. “I did what any good Knight would have. Think nothing more of it, Kavan. Let us hope Pirneon and Barum return soon. I am eager to be away from this dreadful place.”
Kavan frowned. “They should be back by now.”
She shared his apprehension and struggled just as much as he to resist the temptation to seek Pirneon out. Honor demanded she stay by Kavan’s side until he was able to fend for himself. Pirneon, being the former Knight Marshal of Gaimos, would have to take care of the Ogre with only Barum. She turned her attention back to the tiny fire they were fortunate to have. She’d managed to drag together enough small bushes and broken twigs to get the fire started, but it wouldn’t last long. There wasn’t enough natural fuel in the mountains. Seizing advantage of the moment, Aphere had put together a small pot of stew with what ingredients they had in their saddlebags. It was thin and bland.
“Do you truly believe this oracle is capable of helping us?” she asked as she handed him a bowl.
Kavan accepted graciously and swallowed a mouthful of the piping liquid. “It can’t hurt. We’d be riding into Aradain blind otherwise. This is one time I want as much advantage as I can get.”
“Ominous words for a Gaimosian.”
He scoffed, letting her anger rise slightly. “If you’d fought those werebeasts, you’d be feeling exactly the same. They weren’t natural.”
She rose suddenly with the grace of a cat and drew her sword.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I thought I heard something.”
Aphere blocked the cave entrance. She couldn’t hope to fight off the Ogre, but there were no easily accessible escape routes in the darkness. The scraping noise gradually got louder. Closer. Her heart slowed as she dropped into a deep sense of calm. It was an old trick Gaimosians had been using for centuries. Despite this, she felt small, almost insignificant in the smothering darkness.
“It is us,” Pirneon called out in a gravelly voice before they edged into view.
She breathed a small sigh of relief and sheathed her sword. Aphere spied tiny movement between Pirneon and Barum. Where had they found a child? She eyed the small figure cautiously. Some mysteries were potentially too dangerous to know. She opened her mouth to ask but decided against it. Much to her surprise, Geblin sped past her guard and the prone Kavan to revel before the warmth of the fire.
“What is that?” she leaned close to ask Pirneon.
He handed her Kavan’s spear and shook his head. “That is Geblin. He’s a Gnome.”
“A Gnome?”
“Aye. I’d keep a watch on your purse. He’s already tried to lift mine,” Barum added. “He doesn’t seem too thankful for being rescued.”
“What of the Ogre?” Aphere riffled through the pack at her feet and handed the Gnome a bowl. Geblin greedily snatched it and waited, impatiently, for her to fill it.
Pirneon said, “Dead. Barum is quite the marksman.”
The squire bowed his head, cheeks reddening slightly. Aphere smiled in delight. The group then settled down to eat their meager meal before the fire. It had been an exhausting day, and there was much still left to be done.
EIGHTEEN
Corso
Howling winds buffeted against the black stone tower. Dark clouds snarled past. A mist shrouded the lower levels as if concealing some foul purpose. The very night was alive with repression. It was only fitting for the work being done. The lone tower was the only structure for leagues. It reached high into the sky, a relic from the old times when the First Races came into Malweir. Made entirely out of black granite and marble, the tower hummed with latent power. None living knew who had created such a thing or why. There were no legends, no dust-covered tomes explaining its purpose. It was forgotten by all but a few.
Cruel intentions surrounded the area for leagues. A wicked forest of vines and thorns, tangled limbs and gnarled trees had grown around the tower,
lending a special brand of malevolence. The ground was littered with poisonous plants and lurking predators. A single path led from the forest edge to the base of the tower, a path that was only known by one. The secret had been handed down through the ages to those deemed worthy of beholding the dark power contained within.
So it was the current keeper of the knowledge entered the foul wood at dusk, for not even deepest night was safe for the chosen. Ancient wards protected the tower from prying eyes. He didn’t mind the wards; after all, he’d been responsible for reestablishing them once he assumed the role. Dressed in dark robes with a hood covering his head, he strode with powerful, confident strides. The woods stirred around him. Malicious creatures hungrily waited to see if he would make that fatal misstep.
At last, he arrived at the tower. His bony hand slid from the confines of his robe to point at the lock. Green light glowed from the tip of his almost skeletal finger and pulsed into the lock. A series of clicks echoed through the dusk, and the door groaned open. Pausing to give the forest a final look of warning, he entered the tower and began the long climb to the top.
Tonight was the first night of Spring, a special time for the followers of the power. The robbed man, Corso, tirelessly climbed the thousand steps to the upper floor. Fitting, he mused, for he was also one thousand years old. Ten centuries had he wandered across Malweir, tending the ways left behind by the dark gods. Tonight was the culmination of his long existence, a moment he’d striven for his entire life.
The moment was bittersweet. In order for his plan to work, he needed to die. His one solace came from knowing that his actions would send more of the pitiful remnants of the Gaimosian race to their dooms beforehand and even then after. He gained the landing, lost in conflicting thoughts, and used the green light to open the final door. Corso entered, drawing a shuddering breath as he passed through the electric tingle of the invisible warding. Tiny sparks reached down into his soul. The power was raw, unpredictable and strong enough that should any attempt to break in the tower would explode.
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