The Golden Orb

by Doug Niles

  “I don’t think they saw us,” Randall observed. The Highlander was sprawled on the ground, spying through the narrow gap between a couple of square boulders.

  “Nope, they’re not coming this way—they’re still moving along both sides of the creek down there,” he reported. “Their attention is focused on the valley floor. In a few minutes they’re bound to wonder what happened to us.”

  No less than three ogre patrols were converging on the plateau above where the companions had come ashore. The first group to spot them had sent some kind of signal and summoned other comrades from their watch posts. The companions had just evaded at least a score of pursuers.

  “Those rocks gave us good cover,” Moreen said. “We must have made it up the hill without being seen. When they meet up at the bottom of the other side, it’ll take them a while to figure out which way we’ve gone.

  “What about Pneumo—did he get away?” asked the chiefwoman.

  “I think so,” Randall said, still peering over the crest. “I lost track of him across that broken ground, but he seemed pretty certain about where he was going. I hope he’s already trading his pearls for the gold he needs. I’d bet he’ll be the first one of us back to the cove.”

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” Strongwind Whalebone chipped in, “if we don’t want them to come up here, catch us out in the open, or at least pick up our trail.”

  “Me hungry!” Divid declared, sitting down and crossing his arms. “No eats, no go to castle. We make swim, spit water out, and you say no eats. Now we do long climb, and still you say no eats. So me ask, when eats?”

  “You’ve been very brave and smart, also, to lead us around this island,” the chiefwoman said gently. “As soon as we find a place to hide, you can have some eats. We’ll all stop for a rest.” She indicated the pack carried by Randall, containing several days’ worth of dried fish cakes, as well as two flasks of water. “Our friend is carrying plenty of eats.”

  “Eats now, or no go to castle,” Divid repeated, glaring upward. “Stay right here. Yup!”

  “No go to castle, and you end up stuck on an ogre spear,” Moreen said calmly. “Would you prefer that?”

  The gully dwarf scowled, then frowned as he considered his options.

  “Okey dokey, go to castle,” Divid decided, popping up to his feet. “This way.” He stopped and pointed at Moreen. “But you promise—then we eat!”

  “I promise,” she agreed.

  The little fellow led the elf and the three humans down the slope. They dashed across the grassy tundra, momentarily in full view of the castle before they dropped out of sight against the walls of a narrow ravine.

  “Where does that valley go?” Kerrick asked, as they carefully made their way down a steep, rocky stretch of the ravine.

  “See path?” Divid asked. “Goes from castle to fish-camp on shore of island. Ogres use it alla time.”

  As if to confirm the gully dwarf’s remark, they heard a shout from below. Kerrick saw figures on the winding path down there, a full company of ogres streaming along the track on the valley floor. One was pointing up the hillside, and the elf dropped out of sight onto the ravine floor.

  “They spotted me—only me, I think,” the elf said, as all the companions gathered behind a large rock. “A big one at the front of the line got a good look at me.”

  “He saw me, too, I’m afraid,” Strongwind said. The Highlander king peered around the corner of the rock. “They’re coming this way at a pretty good clip now.”

  “Tough spot,” Moreen muttered. “We can’t go up, or the ogres on the other side of the ridge will see us.”

  “Okay, we go this way now,” said Divid, suddenly. He pointed into a shadowy alcove beneath the base of the boulder, right where they were hiding. Looking closely, Kerrick could see a small hole leading into darkness.

  Moreen looked at it with wry distaste. “I guess it’s better than being captured, but I don’t want to be caught in some animal den, either. Where does that cave go?”

  “Goes to castle, yup! Me take you to castle,” their gully dwarf guide declared. “Good ol’ Divid.”

  They all looked skeptical. The castle was at least a mile, probably more, from here.

  “Sure! Good path, used by gullys alla time! No ogres in there neither, you betcha! Tight squeeze for them. Now come along, or me go alone.” He looked longingly at the backpack carried by Randall. “Me could carry some eats, okay?”

  “Sure,” said the berserker with an easy grin. He shrugged out of the shoulder straps, lowering the pack to the ground as he adressed Kerrick and Moreen. “You two better get moving, don’t you think?”

  “We’re all going!” Moreen declared.

  “There are two of us who won’t fit,” Randall said firmly, shrugging his broad shoulders, casting a meaningful look at the king. Kerrick knew he was right. The two muscular Highlanders would have to stay behind. He and Moreen were slender enough that they could make it—not easily, certainly not comfortably, but they could make it.

  “Randall is right,” Strongwind announced. “He and I will make use of ourselves out here in the open.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Moreen, shaking her head. “We should stick together!”

  “No,” Strongwind argued. “You and Kerrick go with Divid. Randall and I will try to draw the pursuit away from here.”

  Randall was already dividing the food cache, putting some of the supplies in a smaller rucksack that he handed to Kerrick. The elf slung it over his shoulder.

  “Come on,” Divid urged, peering around the edge of the boulder, then drawing back from his vantage. “They comin’ up here, right quick! Time for me to go—you comes if you wants to!” With that, he dropped to his hands and knees, and vanished into the dirt-lined hole. Moments later his dirty head popped out. “Bring eats, eh?”

  Moreen stomped her foot but said nothing.

  “The king is right,” Kerrick said, taking her hand.

  “Go!” Strongwind said urgently, stepping forward to put his hands on Moreen’s shoulders. “We’ll meet you back at the cove, when this is over. Promise me you’ll be there?”

  “Yes—but you be there too, dammit!” Moreen declared, touching the king’s cheek affectionately. He squeezed her fingers, then turned away with Randall. Kerrick waited as Moreen knelt down to crawl behind Divid, then the elf, too, dropped to the ground and crept into the rank and muddy confines of the gully dwarf hole.

  “There they go—back up the ridge!” cried Grimwar Bane. “After them, my Grenadiers! I pledge a full cask of warqat to the ogre who brings me the elf’s head!”

  “Are you sure we should chase them, Sire?” asked Argus Darkand, at his liege’s side, reluctantly eyeing the steep slope leading upward. “Perhaps we should head them off up at the castle, take the path back that way. Thene can make sure that they don’t circle around us.”

  “We’ve got them on the run,” declared the king, scorning his helmsman’s advice. “By all means we’ll chase them—run them into the ground. You ogres, keep going up the hill.” He pointed, uttering a cry of delight as he saw a flash of movement high on the slope above them, a human figure dashing across a shallow draw, closely followed by another. “Look, there they are! In that ravine up there!”

  Already the two dozen ogres of his detachment, every one of them a seasoned Grenadier, had turned from the path they were following along the valley floor. The ogres crossed the tundra to the base of the steep ridge, moving in a loose skirmish line. Even in this broken ground, there was no way the fugitives could slip through the ranks.

  The king scanned the valley floor behind them. He could see another group of ogres, thirty or more about a half a mile behind his band, led by his wife. Stariz strode along energetically, bearing a tall wooden staff, the warriors jogging to keep up with her. With her billowing dress and broad, stomping stride, even Grimwar had to admit she looked powerful and intimidating. He was satisfied her party would be able to cover the low groun
d.

  Beyond his wife rose the forbidding bulk of Castle Dracoheim, perched on its rocky knoll, commanding a view of this and all surrounding terrain. Grimwar was comforted to know that his mother was still in the fortress, the Dowager Queen keeping a careful eye on the approaches. Grimwar smiled cruelly, knowing that the Alchemist was safe—and busy crafting the final seal around the rim of the golden orb. The explosive weapon had been nearly complete when they started in pursuit of the intruders.

  Content with the disposition of his warriors, Grimwar hurried to catch up with his strapping young Grenadiers, who were scrambling upward almost as quickly as they had moved across the level ground. Even with a measured pace, the king was startled to find himself breathing heavily after a few dozen paces up the steeply ascending ground.

  Still, he made progress, creeping upward, within hailing distance of his faster warriors. Looking up the slope, Grimwar spotted a bearded man carrying a great sword. The bearded fellow paused near the summit and glanced down on his pursuers, then whirled away. Other ogres shouted in alarm, increasing the pace of their climb.

  The king didn’t see any signs of the other intruders. His scouts had reported a party of five coming this way.

  “Be sure to look in all these gullies!” Grimwar shouted. “Don’t let the cowards hide, or sneak past!”

  By the time the monarch crested the ridge, he was sweating profusely and gasping for breath. “Stop … here!” he ordered, plopping down onto a flat-topped rock. He mopped his brow. “Any sign of them?” he called to one of his warriors, who had advanced to observe from a high rock twenty or thirty paces away from the ogre king.

  “I saw at least two heading along this ridge,” reported the Grenadier, a veteran called Three-Tusks because of the unique tooth growing out of the middle of his lower jaw. It was a trait that caused him to spit when talking, so Grimwar was pleased to speak to the fellow from some distance away.

  “Go after them, my friend,” the king said. “Argus and I will keep a lookout here, and come along in a moment. Argus,” he called to his trusted lieutenant, who had made the climb at his side. “Can you see where the queen’s party is?”

  “Her Highness Queen Stariz leads her company down the path we vacated,” Argus reported, indicating a score of ogres even now making their way down the valley floor. “It looks as though she intends to go all the way to the sea.”

  “Good,” grunted the king. “That will cut them off along the shore. We chase up here, she’s down there. Let him cast a fog or pray for wind—this time the Messenger won’t get away!”

  From somewhere he found the strength to push himself to his feet. Grunting, shaking his head, and once more wiping the sweat from his eyes, he started forward at a fast walk, following the ogre Three-Tusks and the detachment of Grenadiers.

  Kerrick’s knees felt as though they had been scraped raw. His hands were caked with dirt. An unidentifiable odor of remarkable rankness coated the inside of his nostrils, so thick that even if he ever got out of here he was certain he’d smell it for the rest of his life.

  He had no idea how long they had been crawling through these close, muddy confines—hours, at the very least, maybe even days. He was vaguely aware of Moreen in front of him. Occasionally his hand would touch her boot, when she slowed down or he crawled faster. He could only wonder at her courage, advancing resolutely even where she probably could see nothing in front of her at all.

  Divid muttered periodically, usually about being hungry, and his voice was the only confirmation Kerrick had that the gully dwarf was still leading the way. Several times they squirmed through narrow bottlenecks, getting scuffed and scraped on all sides, and twice they reached slightly larger chambers, confluences of several tunnels. In each of these they stopped to stretch and, briefly rest. When Kerrick looked around he noticed several passages leading in all different directions.

  When it was time to resume, Divid displayed no hesitation in selecting one of the apparently identical tunnels. Kerrick could only hope that the dwarf knew where he was going, for they certainly had no choice but to follow him.

  Abruptly Moreen stopped and as the elf came up behind her he heard voices from ahead.

  “Hey, Croaker? That ole you?”

  “Divid? Where you go? How you come here? Got eats?”

  “Got boat job,” said the gully dwarf guide proudly, before sighing. “Sinking kinda boat. Lousy eats, though. Whatcha got?”

  Moreen moved forward, and Kerrick came behind, seeing that they had entered the largest subterranean chamber yet. The chiefwoman rolled to the side, then sat with her back against the muddy wall, while the elf squirmed forward, then knelt at her side. They were in a circular room, perhaps twenty feet across. At least a dozen low tunnels led away from here in as many directions.

  “Who dat?” asked the strange gully dwarf. This was apparently the redoubtable Croaker.

  “These guys go castle,” Divid said. “I show ’em the way.”

  “Oh yeah? They no ogres?” Croaker asked, peering suspiciously at the elf and the woman.

  “Nope, no ogres,” their guide assured his companion. “Nice smellin’ one is a lady! Married to skinny one, me thinks.”

  Kerrick winced. “Friends,” he corrected. Moreen chuckled softly.

  “All gullies friends,” declared Croaker, whacking Divid on the back with enthusiasm. “This one even when we hates him for taking my eats. And my girl-gully.”

  “My eats!” Divid declared, bristling. He stood close to the other, chest puffing out aggressively. “You take my eats! And Darknose my girl-gully!”

  “You take eats and my girl-gully,” Croaker said. “Oughta bop you a good one-two!”

  “Yeah? Me bop you, two times!” Divid raised his grimy fists, ready to swing.

  “We have eats,” Moreen said quickly, reaching out to Kerrick. He handed her the small sack of provisions that Randall had given them when the two groups parted. “Is anyone hungry?”

  “We hungry! Always hungry!”

  Kerrick was astonished to see that there were suddenly at least a dozen gully dwarves in this chamber. They came scrambling out of holes, eyes wide and shining in the darkness. “Whatcha got?” asked one grubby female, swaggering forward and poking her face into the satchel.

  “Here. We have some fish-cakes. I think there’s one for everyone,” the chiefwoman replied, gracefully pulling the bag away, then soothing the scowling girl-gully by offering her the first cake. The others crowded around, and soon the whole group was munching on the nutritious, if rather dry and tasteless, food, the traditional fare of travelers in the Icereach.

  “What is this place?” Kerrick asked Divid, glancing around. “Somebody’s, er, home?”

  “This fine inn!” declared their guide. “Called ‘Wayfare House.’ Gullies come here for good eats, good talk. Meet girls, too,” he said with a wink.

  “Meet my girl,” Croaker said sullenly, apparently unwilling to let that transgression go unmentioned. “Two times!”

  “This is an inn, eh?” the elf said. He looked around the place, now crowded with gully dwarves. There was no furniture, no fireplace, just a few rotting logs and big stones and a slab of rotten meat lying along one wall of the room.

  Kerrick assumed from its odor that this latter was garbage, but one of the gullies, having consuming his fish cake, pulled a piece of stringy flesh from the slab and gobbled it down with a great smile. The elf suppressed a gag as he saw maggots crawling on the morsel, just before the cheerful gully dwarf smacked his lips over the white, pasty grubs.

  “How much farther,” Kerrick asked Divid with a gulp. “How long before we get to the castle?”

  “What castle?” asked their guide, chewing innocently.

  “Dracoheim Castle,” the elf replied, trying to hold his temper. “You know, where you promised to take us.”

  “Sure, sure, I promise.”

  “When? How far is it?” repeated Kerrick.

  “We here,” said Divid, le
aning his head back.

  “Where?” asked Kerrick, looking up, noticing for the first time that the roof of the “Wayfare Inn” was high overhead. Moreen was already standing up, pointing to a shaft leading upward, a rickety ladder extending down from the opening in the ceiling all the way to the floor.

  “Castle Dracoheim! We right under big castle. What you think, anyways?” said Divid, before turning back to dig in, with visible relish, to a bite of maggot-infested dessert.

  “Do you think we should cross over the ridge?” wondered Randall, as he and Strongwind paused for sips of water and a bite to eat. They rested on a patch of sun-warmed grass, catching their breath, making sure the ogres didn’t fall too far behind. “That might make them worry a little … pick up the pace of their pursuit, you know?”

  “Maybe, but I think we should stay where they can get a good look at us now and then,” the king suggested. “I wouldn’t want them to give up and head back to the castle.” He gazed off toward the citadel, now a good distance away. He hoped Moreen was safe, but knew there was nothing he could do for her now except keep these foolish ogres away from her.

  “Time to go,” the king said, rising to his feet, adjusting his sword so that it hung easily from his belt.

  “Suits me,” Randall agreed, also rising to his feet, easily hefting his axe. The ogres were coming on below. One of them shouted something as the two men showed themselves, and the cat-and-mouse chase resumed.

  “How many of them did you see?” growled the ogre king, panting for breath, as he squinted toward the place where the humans had dropped out of sight again.

  “Just two, Sire,” reported Argus. “I don’t know if they are the same two, however. More and more my eyes fail me—”

  “No, that’s what I saw, too,” Grimwar declared. Squinting, he looked back along the ridgecrest, toward the looming height of Dracoheim Castle. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen more than two, not since this chase started.”