“Too many questions! To the first, yes I know what she plans-she’s going to rescue Strongwind, to bring him home. I think that’s pretty brave,” Coraltop acknowledged. “As to the last, well, of course, thanks for the invite-I mean, a chance to see Winterheim! Who wouldn’t want to go? A whole city inside a mountain, they say. Well, that’s not the kind of thing you find just anywhere-not unless you hang around with dwarves, I mean, and who’d want to do that?”
“Not me,” Kerrick chuckled. “I’m just as happy to have landed among humans. There are times I even prefer them to elves!”
“Well, of course. Humans are lots of fun. More lively, too. Elves can be so … well, serious. They don’t laugh much, have you ever noticed? Present company excepted, of course.”
Kerrick did laugh then, softly, so as not to break the mood of the moment. He relished this time with Coraltop and was certain that if someone else was to stir, the kender would perform his usual vanishing act. He felt a rush of affection for the little fellow.
“The Tusker Escarpment, too-of course you’ll have to get a look at that. Though I’d be careful about that part-you might want to take some strong drink along.”
“Strong drink? Why?” Kerrick asked.
The kender continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Too bad I can’t come with you for the whole way. You know I’m really pretty busy, have lots of things to do-”
“Of course,” Kerrick replied, growing exasperated, remembering the art of conversation the way it was practiced with the kender-as if they were always talking about two different things. “Maybe I should ask where you’ve been. You disappear for years, then pop back up just now? No one else sees you, and they think I’m mad if I even talk about you! You’re off doing those important things, no doubt?”
“Do you even have to ask? I have a life too, you know.”
The elf shook his head again, turning to look over the rim of the parapet. “Yes, we all have our lives,” he said quietly, “and she’s counting on us to sacrifice ours, if necessary, to help her, and by Zivilyn, I mean to do just that!”
He heard footsteps and laughter, as several people made their way up the stairs, approaching the rampart. Kerrick turned around, looking for Coraltop Netfisher, but of course the kender was nowhere to be seen.
Barq One-Tooth actually had several ivory stubs jutting from his gums-at least five or six, Moreen estimated quickly-but it was surely the one incisor of solid gold that gave the rough-hewn Highlander his name. That tooth was in clear evidence as the hulking thane glowered at her from across one of the banquet tables that had been set up in Brackenrock’s great hall. The chiefwoman watched that gleaming chip of metal as the burly, bearded man-clad in fur from his boots to leggings and his tunic and even his huge cloak-tore off a piece of bread and chomped down on it as if it were an enemy warrior’s head.
Repulsed, she turned to the other thane who had emerged as a spokesman from the band of a dozen or more Highlander lords. He, too, was seated at the chiefwoman’s table for this hastily arranged banquet. Thedric Drake came from Seascape, one of the coastal realms. The Highlanders who lived near the sea, Moreen had learned, tended to have at least a civilized veneer, unlike the mountain-dwelling clans such as Barq’s stronghold at Southhelm.
Many of both groups were here, as well as more than a hundred of her own Arktos people, men and women from her tribe and others. All of them had sworn to assist in her great cause and had gathered in the hall for this night of planning and farewells. Even the gully dwarf, Slyce, had insisted on joining the war party-in fact, he had volunteered as soon as he learned there would be beer and warqat at the departure feast.
The midnight sun was pale, almost touching the horizon now as summer drew to a close, and the soft light spilled through the hall’s high windows, joining the fire smoke to shroud the room in a cloudy haze. Bruni and Dinekki were also here, and Mouse of course, and Kerrick. Moreen once again felt the warmth in her heart that came from the presence of these good, trusted friends.
“To Strongwind Whalebone-King of the Highlanders!” cried Thedric Drake, raising his mug of warqat and offering a toast. “May he breathe free air e’en before the next Sturmfrost!”
“King Strongwind!” The name was echoed around the great hall as more than four hundred folk, Arktos and Highlanders alike, joined in the accolade. Moreen was careful to take only a sip of the pungent beverage, though she noted that most of those in the hall were unwilling to practice such restraint. Already, though the evening was young, the level of noise and boisterousness was rising considerably.
Why not? She knew that all of these men and women were willing to gamble their lives embarking on a quest that offered little hope of success or even of survival. Let them drink on this night!
“To the bravest of the brave, Mad Randall!” Kerrick Fallabrine offered, more somberly. He was seated to Moreen’s left and swayed slightly as he raised his mug. Abruptly the elf pushed back his chair, which fell over, and stood unsteadily. “The true warrior who fell to the ogres but took a dozen of the bastards with him when he died!” He turned and cast his glass into the fireplace, where the remnants of warqat whooshed into a burst of blue flame. The elf blinked in surprise, then laughed aloud.
“Mad Randall!” The toast became a cheer, with many Highlanders thumping on their tables. Even Moreen was swept up in the moment, her eyes tearing as she remembered the brave man and loyal friend. She took a long draught from her mug and gritted her teeth as the fiery liquid seared down her throat.
“We carry on the fight!” Barq One-Tooth roared, standing up and raising his mug so that warqat splashed across the table. “The ogres will learn to fear us-and they will die! Mad Randall will be avenged for all the Highlands!”
“Mad Randall will be avenged for all of mankind!” Bruni shouted, her voice roaring even over the cheers that greeted the thane’s pronouncement. “He was a brave man and a true friend.”
“For Aghar, too!” Slyce proclaimed, climbing up to stand on a chair next to the elf. He leaned over and whispered to Kerrick loudly. “Who Mad Randall?”
“For all of the Icereach!” This was Kerrick’s addition, and Moreen almost laughed at the toast-he was an elf after all but had thrown his lot in with the humans of this land. Her heart warmed at the thought, and when he happened to glance down at her, she smiled, and his face colored in a very un-elven blush.
“To the return of Strongwind Whalebone-may he once again sit upon his throne,” declared Moreen, more quietly now, as she considered the words herself. “All of us, Arktos, Highlanders and elf, have lost a great friend-a strong leader and a loyal friend.” Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the hall, as each person took the measure of his or her own determination.
“I should think that you, my lady, might have an especial cause to grieve his capture.” Thedric Drake leaned in to whisper to her. The elder thane’s tone was gentle, but his gaze was as sharp as ever.
“Why do you say that?” Moreen asked, though after an instant of reflection she knew.
“There were many among both our peoples, who thought that the wedding of our king and the Lady of the Arktos was the perfect compact, the seal on an alliance that has been too many centuries in the making. Surely you knew that he loved you?” Now the thane’s tone was gently chiding.
“I know that he and I discussed such a marriage on several occasions,” the chiefwoman replied uncomfortably. “The words that we exchanged are personal words, between the king and myself.”
“You did not marry him, yet he still accompanied you, gave up his freedom in the service of the Arktos tribe.”
“Yes. He came not as my future husband but as a loyal friend,” she replied, “and now I vow to rescue him!”
“Or die trying!” This was Barq One-Tooth again, staggering up from his chair, waving his mug in another sloppy toast. He threw his glass into the fire-and had left a good slug of warqat in the vessel, judging by the sheet of flame that erupted.
; “Die trying!” The thought was echoed across the hall, and Moreen shivered slightly at the grim toast, but once again she raised her glass and joined in.
Thedric Drake stood, mug in hand, and the room fell expectantly silent, awaiting another toast. Instead, he looked at Moreen, smiled in an avuncular manner, and gestured for her to rise. When she did, he spoke gently.
“Now that we have joined you in this quest … can you tell us your plan?”
Suddenly Moreen felt a little drunk. She knew her idea was crazy, yet it seemed to her sensible enough. These were such good people, surely they would understand!
“I propose to journey to Winterheim, to enter the ogre city, and to find and free Strongwind Whalebone,” she announced without preamble. “To bring him and the rest of us out alive. If we can free more of the slaves, even all of them, we will do that, too.”
Barq One-Tooth uttered a low whistle of surprise then toppled forward, his face falling into the gravy on his plate.
“I admire your courage and your will, but the important question is, how do you propose to do this?” Thedric asked quietly. “Have you even seen Winterheim, much less found a way inside?”
“I have learned of a way into the ogre city through a cavern called the Moongarden. We can march there overland, though it means we must scale the Tusker Escarpment then the Icewall. I believe this route offers at least a reasonable chance of success.”
“How did you learn of this entry?” asked Thedric warily.
“We have an ogre prisoner, the only survivor of a raiding party taken on the Whitemoor. Bruni has gotten to know him in the past few weeks, and he has proved to be quite talkative. It is upon his words that I have made my plan.”
“A prisoner? Surely you must suspect treachery?” the thane argued. “He has perhaps directed you right into the arms of a permanent garrison.”
Moreen looked at Bruni, who shook her head. “I have to tell you that I trust him,” the big woman said. “For one thing, I am pretty certain that he isn’t bright enough to practice any such deception. He talked to us willingly and seemed to be quite content simply to engage in conversation. I believe I have been able to win over his trust. Furthermore, he clearly doesn’t believe that we present any credible threat to his king’s fortress-he believes no harm can come from whatever he has told us.”
“But the Tusker Escarpment,” suggested a Highlander thane Moreen didn’t know, “there are a thousand walrus men living there!”
“Then we’ll kill ’em all!” It was Kerrick, standing and swaying, lifting a new glass to right and left, some wine sloshing out. There was a moment of surprised silence, then a roar swept up from the gathering, echoing in the rafters of the great hall.
“Death to the tuskers!” The new chant swelled in the hall, and more glasses were drained.
“I will bring the Axe of Gonnas and smite the ogres with their own talisman!” exclaimed Bruni, gesturing to the sacred weapon, captured eight years ago and now displayed on the wall of the keep, above the great hearth. “Even the ogre god cannot stop us!”
“There are more things than gods to fear,” Dinekki said, her frail voice somehow cutting through the noise of the gathering, “but there are gods on our side, as well-gods, men, and even an elf,” she added, with a wink at Kerrick.
“How can we fail?” asked Bruni, who seemed to Moreen to be surprisingly sober. The big woman raised her mug, took a deep drink, and proclaimed aloud, “To the Tusker Escarpment!”
“Up the Icewall Pass!” Kerrick added.
“And through the Moongarden of Winterheim,” Moreen chimed in. Three more glasses crashed into the coals, and the vapors of warqat again puffed into their azure flame, the explosion whooshing right out of the fireplace.
The room fell silent, and the chiefwoman felt all eyes upon her. She felt sober now, alert and hopeful and in the company of good friends. Slowly and somberly she lifted her vessel for one final toast.
“A pledge,” she said. “I make a pledge to lead you, my loyal companions, to Winterheim. We will enter the ogre stronghold and rescue Strongwind Whalebone-”
“Or die trying!” Somehow Barq One Tooth had recovered enough to lift his bearded face, gravy smear and all, to make that last addition to the pledge.
“Or die trying,” Moreen echoed, drinking deeply.
She meant every word.
5
Destiny of a Slave
You lost him? The King of Suderhold goes out for a stroll in his own palace, and you cannot follow where he goes?” The queen’s tone was deceptively gentle, but she felt the growl rumbling in her throat, a menacing indication of her rising displeasure.
“Please, your highness!” cried Garnet Drake, kneeling abjectly, speaking in the direction of the floor. “There was nothing I could do-he followed the trollop’s slave only for a short time, then their paths diverged. Naturally, I chose to keep your husband in sight.”
“Not very effectively, it would seem,” Stariz noted in a calm, unemotional tone. She was pleased to see the film of sweat beading on Drake’s brow.
“Well, he turned into a narrow lane then made great haste. I followed him as closely as I dared, all the way to the Slaves’ Way!” The man’s voice was growing shrill, tremulous. “When I got there he was gone! There was no one within a hundred paces in either direction, though I raced back and forth with great urgency. It was as though he vanished into thin air! I suspect sorcery, your majesty-sorcery of black and sinister import!”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Stariz snorted, controlling her mounting anger only with the greatest difficulty.
She felt an urge to reach out and wring this useless wretch’s neck-indeed, the act would give her no small measure of satisfaction. Her chief spy was not entirely useless-indeed, his loyalty had been proven many times over, and if she were to dispose of him, she would have a headache replacing him.
Instead, she squinted then murmured a prayer-a minor entreaty, really, to the power of her awe-inspiring god. Immediately the human cried out, clasping his hands to his face, looking up at her with fear and horror in his eyes. He gagged, turning to the side, retching messily onto the floor.
The queen stood still, unmoved as she watched boils emerge from the skin of his hands and his face-sores, she knew, that were erupting all over his body. Each welt grew quickly, festering and bubbling beneath the man’s pale skin.
“Please … Highness … I beg you!” groaned Garnet, rolling in his own mess, thrashing and kicking. He choked, gagging and croaking as he strained to draw each agonizing breath.
Still she made no move but watched emotionlessly as the boils blossomed angrily then burst, one by one, to leave bloody sores. The spy groaned in agony, but each movement caused him even greater agony. After a while he lay rigid, staring at her in a mixture of horror and awe.
Five minutes later he was breathing a little more easily, sobbing abjectly, covered in sweat and specked with the blood that had marked his oozing sores. Slowly, he pushed himself to his knees and wiped a bloody palm across his face to smear away his tears. He would be disgusting to look at for a few days, but Stariz was satisfied, even pleased by the lesson she had taught him.
“Next time I trust you will be more diligent,” she declared, and he nodded mutely.
She gestured at the vomit and blood on the floor, wrinkling her piglike nose in distaste. “Clean this up,” she ordered, “and get yourself into some clean clothes. I want you to show me this place where the king of Suderhold disappeared.”
Stariz placed no credence in Garnet’s suggestion that the king had vanished through magical means. She herself controlled the most powerful magic in Winterheim, and there was none who would dare work such power in the face of her displeasure. She would not detect any spell casting nor residue of magic.
However, she had hopes that, with careful search, she might be able to discover a secret door.
Strongwind Whalebone and the three ogres of his escort walked in silence for a long time, at
first climbing a wide, circling ramp that ascended steadily, then moving onto a stairway that spiraled about the center of a long, vertical shaft. Twice they paused to rest, and each time the lord and the two guards took drinks of water from a cask that sat, apparently for that purpose, on the landing. Strongwind was so thirsty that he would have had no qualms accepting the dipper from the guard who had just swilled from it, but in neither instance was refreshment offered to the slave.
Throughout these halls they encountered other slaves, humans walking with their eyes downcast, dressed in plain garments of brown wool. These people quickly moved out of the way as the party approached, and one woman cowered abjectly when one of the guards raised a fist to hasten her out of the way. None of them was chained, Strongwind noticed, and for the most part they seemed to be moving about on simple errands without any direct supervision or restraint.
Finally the group emerged into a straight corridor, once more on a level floor. They passed a room where pots clanged and tantalizing odors-baking bread and steamed fish prominent among them-suggested a kitchen. Several times they passed groups of men and women, all of whom stood to the side and bowed politely as Lord Forlane passed. These slaves, too, kept their eyes downcast, though the human king noticed several of them sneaking glances at him after the ogre nobleman had passed.
Strongwind returned the looks surreptitiously and made a few observations: While none of the humans were exactly fat, they did not seem emaciated either. Unlike the slaves on the lower levels, they wore garments of dyed wool, and their clothes-as well as faces, hair, and beards-seemed relatively clean. They made a contrast to the miserable wretches the king had seen laboring at the capstans in the harbor. He suspected these were some of the advantages of being enslaved in the higher levels of the ogre fortress.
Finally, the lord arrived at a broad door upon which he knocked once then pushed open. He led Strongwind into an anteroom lit brightly with oil lamps. Several humans were at work here cleaning some long tables and, in one corner, sewing patches on a several old leather cloaks.
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