She saw the audacity of the idea, and she also perceived that the thanoi were as tired as her own people. Perhaps a show of resolve was all that would be needed to break their will.
“Let’s go,” she said.
The plan was spread quickly, the thanes, the chiefwoman, and Mouse quickly explaining the idea to all the fighters. Five minutes later Barq One-Tooth raised his axe and uttered a howling battle cry, and the entire formation lurched into motion.
The big Highlander clove his axe right through the skull of a startled thanoi. Warriors to either side of him added their own blows. The tuskers in the path of the advance quickly scattered out of the way, though not before several more fell to the weapons of the angry humans. In a tight formation, a solid ring with the archers and a dwindling supply of reserves in the middle, the war party moved down the hill and along the floor of a valley that took them due south.
A small band of tuskers worked themselves into a frenzy and rushed the front edge of the advancing circle. These were cut down with brutal efficiency, the war party not even breaking step as the humans trudged over the bodies of their enemies. The rest of the walrus men continued to bark and roar, howling on both sides of the ring and surging along at the rear, but they made no further efforts to try and block the advance.
On the flank, Moreen and Kerrick kept their eyes on the enemy as the tuskers remained just out of arrow range. The thanoi kept them surrounded, but the circular formation, bristling with weapons, maintained a steady pace toward the south. For three or four hours they continued on in this fashion, occasionally brushing off the attacks of small groups of thanoi who harried them. The humans did not have to contend with the full weight of the enemy numbers at any one time, though a thousand or more thanoi remained in view on all sides, still raising a constant din. The war party thus followed the course of the valley throughout its length, taking advantage of the smooth floor beside a shallow stream. Finally the march slowed as the formation began to climb the gradual slope toward the headwaters.
“This is the foot of the escarpment,” Mouse declared. “Not as steep as I thought it would be-though the summit looks to be a good cliff.”
“I think I see a pass there,” Kerrick noted. “We might be able to get through it without scaling a precipice.”
Indeed, the stream they were following seemed to issue from a narrow cut in the rocks at the head of the valley, and Moreen wondered if the thanoi would try to make a stand there to prevent the expedition from moving over the escarpment and into the wild lands beyond. Instead, she was surprised to see the attackers fall back even farther as the humans climbed the slope. Finally, as the Arktos and Highlanders drew near to the crest, the thanoi ceased their roaring and stomping. Now the creatures gathered in a long semicircle, an arc around the tail of the formation. They were several hundred yards away, out of range even of the stoutest longbow, and seemed content to allow the war party get away.
The humans drew near to the steep-sided pass that seemed to offer a good route over the Tusker Escarpment. The ring of warriors compressed in order to pass through that gap, smoothly adjusting their formation into a column at the front, while still maintaining a line of defense against attack from the rear. Bruni, Kerrick, and Moreen joined the rearguard, keeping a watchful eye on the brooding thanoi, while Thedric Drake and Barq One-Tooth strode boldly at the front.
Abruply the column came to a halt, and Moreen heard shouts of consternation from the leaders. She turned to look and gaped in awe as a monstrous figure shrugged off a tumble of rocks to rear up into the air, twenty or thirty feet high. It seemed to be a giant insect of some kind, with horrible bulging eyes and a mouth surrounded by a pair of sharp, clicking pincers. An insect easily the size of a whale, it buzzed angrily, taut and menacing.
Barq One Tooth uttered a fierce, ululating war cry and rushed forward with his axe upraised. Other Highlanders shouted too, and Thedric Drake urged them to charge behind Barq. The monster swept a spiked leg before it-it had many such limbs, jutting from a body segmented like a centipede’s-and knocked the big Highlander to the side with a slashing blow.
The horrible head snapped forward and down, a lethal stab followed by a click of those jaws. Thedric Drake shouted one word-“Kradock!” the name of the Highlander god-and vanished into that awful maw. The beast lifted its head again, wriggled through an unmistakable swallowing gesture, and let out a roar of challenge and hunger.
Thedric Drake was gone.
7
The Mistress
An hour later Tildy Trew and his bath were merely pleasant memories as Strongwind again found himself flanked by a pair of big ogre guards, following Lord Forlane through the halls of Winterheim. They were on the highest level of the city, he suspected, judging from the view of the harbor he glimpsed from the edge of the great, round avenue that circled the central atrium. Above him there was only an arched stone surface, and he knew he was looking up at the bare bedrock of the hollowed out mountaintop.
The lord led him past several guards and through a large, stone door. Great hallways branched to both sides, and the walls were lined with woolen tapestries depicting hunts, landscapes, and several examples of glorious sailing ships and galleys. Strongwind guessed that this was the entrance to the royal palace. Two minutes later he was led into a room where Grimwar Bane himself was waiting to look him over.
The ogre king was feasting on a haunch of mutton, and his jowls were slick with grease. A dozen of his subjects, all male, were seated at the table with him. All were dressed in long bearskin capes such as that worn by Lord Forlane. Several seemed quite old, with wrinkled faces and withered arms, and one caught the human’s attention simply because he was immensely fat. That one had a shred of stringy mutton dangling, apparently unnoticed, from one of his tusks.
Grimwar grunted in approval, apparently satisfied that Strongwind had been adequately washed. The other ogres looked at the slave with interest, and the king leaned back in his huge chair, gesturing expansively.
“Here’s the one I brought back myself,” he said. “Put up a real fight, too. He and his comrade killed a dozen of my Grenadiers.” This description drew several whistles of astonishment and appreciation.
“Do you think he’s still dangerous?” asked the fat ogre, his eyes wide as he looked Strongwind up and down.
“Yes, very,” said the king, with a glance of contemptuous amusement at the huge lord. He gestured to the two guards. “These fellows will kill him if he so much as makes a move toward the table.”
Grimwar Bane turned to Lord Forlane. “I have decided what to do with this slave, for now,” said the king of Suderhold.
Forlane leaned in, and Strongwind watched them talk, wondering what fate had in store for him now.
“I sent Garnet Drake to fetch that slave, the one we brought back from Dracoheim, and bring him to the temple,” Stariz told Grimwar. “I wanted to keep him there in preparation for Autumnblight! My lord, that ceremony is only three weeks away!”
The king had just arrived home after a dinner with several of the lords of the different city levels of Winterheim. He was full, a little drunk, and tired. He hadn’t even had a chance to take his boots off yet, nor did it look as if he would get that chance, as his wife continued her verbal onslaught.
“Garnet was told that the slave had already been assigned-and he was unable to find out where the human was sent!”
Stariz glared at him, her hands on her hips. Grimwar faced that gaze, resentment building, wishing he knew a way to dam that torrent of words. His wife opened her mouth to speak again, and the truth washed over him: He didn’t have to listen!
Instead, he plopped down into his most comfortable chair, ignoring her so blatantly that she stammered a surprised sound then clamped her jaw shut. He couldn’t see her fierce expression as he lifted one foot at a time to allow the two slaves to pull off his walrus-hide footgear. He knew that she would be staring daggers at him, but he felt cloaked in a strange new sense of invul
nerability. Why hadn’t he made this discovery years ago?
In fact, the king decided that he had had just about enough of being cowed by his wife. There was much of which he should feel proud. The wasted campaign aside, his kingdom seemed to be doing very well indeed. All the gold mines were operating at full capacity, and his coffers were gathering wealth at an unprecedented pace. His mistress had been very good to him since his return from the summer’s campaign, and he knew that she anxiously awaited his next visit. Thraid would undoubtedly be delighted and grateful that he had provided a slave for her amusement, at least until Autumnblight.
“I myself gave orders for the slave to be moved,” he finally said, leaning back in the chair and gesturing the slaves to leave. Moments later king and queen were alone. “I did not want you doing him any harm, not yet, in any event. He will be yours for the ceremony but not until then.”
“I must prepare him, and you know that! The Willful One must be appeased, and what better way than to sanctify the blood of one who did him such grievous harm? You had no right-”
“I had every right, woman!” roared the king, pushing himself to his feet with a flex of his powerful arms. Stariz halted in mid-rant, eyes narrowed, watching him suspiciously.
He shouted again, delighting in the release of his temper. “Do not forget that I am king here-king of Suderhold! You hold your station only because I have placed you there! I am tired of arguing with you over matters that are my own decisions. You too often lose sight of your place-but I am the king! I am lord of Winterheim, monarch of Suderhold. I am your master!”
She recoiled from his words as if he had raised his fist to her, and he took great satisfaction from the expression of fear on her face. He lowered his voice to a growl and bared his impressive tusks.
“I see that you are afraid of me, my queen. Remember that feeling. It is one you should remember, for you will have cause to fear me if you do not do a better job of learning your own station.”
“Forgive me, Sire,” Stariz said meekly-more meekly than she had ever said anything to the king in all their years of marriage. “I shall remember your words, and I thank you for your kindness in giving me warning.” She bowed her head, then astonished him with a curtsy!
The king was somewhat taken aback by her abrupt mood change. His temper evaporated and was replaced with a sense of bemused satisfaction. Turning abruptly, he stalked out of his apartment in his bare feet onto the promenade far above the harbor. He was well satisfied with his handling of the matter. The human slave would be forgotten for the next few weeks, and quite possibly his wife would be a little easier to live with.
If he chose to continue living with her.
That thought, daring and sacrilegious, came into his mind unbidden. He thought about his words to her. He had spoken the truth-he was the master here, and why should the master of a powerful realm not be the master of his own bedroom?
Of course, there were reasons for the marriage, all of them centering on politics-Stariz was from Glacierheim, a barony that was historically among the most restive of Suderhold’s fiefdoms. As high priestess, she was the leader of the ogre religion, pre-eminent interpreter of the will of Gonnas, a fact that she had used to her advantage on many occasions.
As for Glacierheim, that frost-bound realm had been peacefully acquiescent for years, and he had more than enough might in his own royal guards to deal with any rebelliousness that might develop there. The religious aspect of his wife’s influence was more worrisome. He knew that her clerical powers were real, that the god of her temple was a proud and willful deity, but Grimwar Bane honored Gonnas in his own way. It seemed at least possible that the powerful immortal would not bring down his displeasure merely to soothe the wrath of a scorned ogress.
More importantly, right now neither Glacierheim nor Gonnas seemed as important to the king as his own reborn sense of purpose. After all, there was precedent for the ogre ruler choosing his own desires over outside concerns. Indeed, his father had divorced his wife for a younger woman-that had been the cause of the dowager queen’s exile to Dracoheim. Perhaps Grimwar Bane himself should take a lesson from that history.
As he thought about it, the idea began to make more and more sense. He imagined a life without Stariz sticking into his side like a venomous thorn … and with Thraid’s lush body, instead, warming the royal bedchamber.
He was king, a mighty king. Why should he not have what he wanted?
“O Great Gonnas the Strong, Willful Master of Ogre-kind-grant me the wisdom to understand the danger and the power to act in your interests!”
Stariz, her face obscured by the great black mask of her station, prostrated herself on the smooth slate floor, heartsick and frightened. The massive statue of her dire deity, obsidian and standing three times the height of any mortal ogre, loomed above her, silent and impassive. Always in the past she had found that massive presence comforting.
Now, however, the fear that gnawed at her would not subside.
Bitterly she recalled her husband’s dreadful rebuke and the even more disgusting acquiescence she had pretended in order to mollify him, at least temporarily. How dare he speak to her like that? Didn’t he realize the strength, and the wisdom, that she brought to their royal pairing? Didn’t he fear her power?
In truth, she suspected that he didn’t, at least not as much as he should. If it wasn’t for her, Grimwar Bane would probably have been content merely to amass his gold and to live in his citadel, master of an ancient and steadily waning kingdom. It was she, Stariz, who had convinced him of the need to make relentless war against the humans, to drive them from their coastlines and verdant valleys, lands that rightfully belonged to Suderhold. It was she who was responsible for him bringing hundreds of slaves into the warrens of Winterheim, and everywhere in the Icereach the humans were on the defensive. She was the one who rooted out the potential rebels among the slaves, through her network of spies and the potent auguries of her god. She made examples of these recalcitrants-vivid examples-and throughout the king’s reign there was no hope of inciting of even a modest rebellion.
The king was a fool! He would throw it all away, she knew, if ever she ceased pushing him, guiding him onto the paths chosen by their dark and warlike god. He had been seduced by a pretty ogress, one who was empty of mind and character, who offered nothing to the kingdom except carnal diversion for the monarch.
Stariz began to understand. The king was right about some things: He was powerful, too powerful for her to change when his mind was set upon a stubborn path, so she would not strike at the untouchable king. Instead, she would find someone else to feel the brunt of her wrath, someone close to the king but still vulnerable. Someone whose fate would serve a warning to the king.
Someone like the Lady Thraid Dimmarkull.
Once more Strongwind was led through the halls of Winterheim, this time back down from the palace, past many levels, until he guessed that he was near the middle of the lofty fortress-city. Lord Forlane led the way, with the two sturdy guards maintaining a vigilant escort. They emerged from the long, descending ramp to follow the wide street that seemed to occupy the ring around the atrium on each level.
Soon they turned into a narrow side street, following this back from the atrium and into the shadows near the outer mountain wall. Several lamps, presumably fueled by whale oil, brightened the narrow street and illuminated the entrance to a narrow courtyard that abutted a door at the very far end. Strongwind guessed that this structure, at the fringe of the city, lay up against the solid bedrock of the mountain itself.
One of the guards stepped forward and knocked on the door, which was quickly opened by a muscular human of middle age or slightly older-a Highlander, Strongwind judged, by the man’s high forehead and blue eyes. The hair might have once been straw-colored, though it was now thin and wispy at the top and shaded to whitish gray in the fellow’s beard.
“Lord Forlane, welcome,” he said. “You must be bringing the new house slave our mist
ress mentioned.” The elder human turned to look a Strongwind. His expression was unreadable.
“My name is Wandcourt.”
“Call me Whalebone,” Strongwind said as he entered.
Lord Forlane followed him inside. “Is the Lady Thraid in?” asked the ogre nobleman.
“Yes, my lord, expecting you both, in fact,” Wandcourt replied with a bow.
The elder slave led the ogre and Strongwind through a stone-walled anteroom that seemed remarkably plain in its appointments, given the size of the chamber. The Highlander got the immediate impression that this place hadn’t been occupied for long.
That notion was reinforced as they passed under a high stone archway into the apartment’s great room. There was a large hearth in the opposite wall and several bearskin rugs in the center of the room, with a chair and a large divan arranged there. Several lamps burned in alcoves in the walls, but-like the anteroom-the rest of this chamber seemed barren, as if still awaiting more furniture. It called out at least for the softening touches of a few additional bearskins.
Only then did Strongwind realize that someone occupied the divan-an ogress who faced away from him and was partially screened by the back of the long, couchlike seat. Wandcourt led him around to face her, and he quickly bowed.
“Lord Forlane! What an honor to see you, personally,” declared the ogress, in a voice like a purr-the purr of a very large, and very dangerous, bear. She pushed herself to a sitting position and extended a hand, which Strongwind’s escort bent to take.
“My Lady, I would never pass up the chance to spend a few moments in your charming presence. When His Majesty asked me to see to the delivery of your new house slave, I marked it an opportunity for a visit.”
“This is the slave?” Thraid murmured. Strongwind, still bowing, felt her attention shift to him, though he couldn’t read her tone. “Straighten up and let me look at you.”
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