“Look-blindfish!” Moreen exclaimed, pointing into the shallow, clear pool.
Kerrick saw a number of the cave dwelling swimmers, including a pair that were a good foot and a half long. Quickly he nocked an arrow into his bow and with a few well-placed shots was able to pull two of the largest fish out of the water. The shiny creatures wriggled and flopped until, with a few swipes of his knife, he filleted and cleaned them. Bruni gathered pieces of driftwood that had collected here.
Several Highlanders took up positions along the riverbank with light spears, while others held torches, the light reflecting in erratic glimmers from the rippling surface. In short order they had plucked dozens of fish from the stream, while still more of their comrades set about cleaning and cooking the aquatic delicacies. They grilled the fish and ate some of their dried bread, while sharing a few companionable sips from their dwindling supply of warqat.
Moreen and a dozen Arktos offered to stand the first watch, giving the others a chance to sleep. It was hard to tell how long they remained here in the lightless grotto, each of them standing a turn at the watch, but some time later they were all awake, refreshed, and ready to continue.
Barq gently probed his battered face. “Doesn’t hurt as much now,” he said. “Still swollen, though. Right?”
“No, really, it looks much better,” the elf suggested, disingenuously. He didn’t say better than what.
They continued along the cave. The party formed a long column, each warrior staying within a few paces of those marching before and behind. They passed through an array of caverns, some narrow with low ceilings, others vaulting high overhead. Water became common, mostly in small streams or clear pools.
“How far do you think we’ve come?” Moreen asked when they stopped for what they guessed to be a midday rest.
“Hard to tell with all the winding around, but counting yesterday, I think we’ve gone at least ten miles,” Kerrick speculated. “That must be half way to the main citadel, judging from where we saw the mountain outside.”
“We’d better stay alert,” Barq noted grimly. “There’s bound to be more of those big brutes waiting up ahead. They ain’t gonna let us walk right into their city like this.”
The others nodded, though Kerrick was not so sure. He was beginning to think that the ogre Broadnose had been right, that this was pretty much a forgotten and remote route into the ogre citadel, not a place that any citizen of Winterheim would use for a practical purpose.
“We should be coming to that place, the Moongarden, somewhere along here,” Moreen said. “Do you suppose we’ll know it when we find it?”
In another hour their question was answered as they came through a narrow arch in the cavern passage to find themselves in a chamber much, much larger than any before. There was no way for the torchlight to reach even halfway across the huge cavern, but neither was it necessary. Indeed, Bruni quickly extinguished the light, and the companions looked around in awe.
“It’s like a forest of mushrooms,” Moreen said, gesturing to the floor of the cavern some fifty feet below them. Everywhere grew massive clumps of fungi, some the size of bushes or boulders, others as big as cottages.
Throughout the clumps of mushrooms they could see streams, some rippling over rapids, others swirling or marked by still, deep pools. Flying creatures dived and spun through the air some distance away, and Kerrick pointed out that they looked like bats-a swarm of a thousand or more.
“It’s underground,” Moreen said, gesturing to the lofty ceiling rising to a shadowy definition overhead, “but we can see everything!”
“The walls,” noted the elf, inspected the stone surrounding the arch through which they had entered. “This is a glowing lichen here, and it seems to extend all the way around this place.”
Indeed, the illumination was soft, greenish in tint, and very pleasant to the eyes. It cast no shadows but instead provided a gentle and uniform light that resembled a summer night, when the skies were clear and the white moon full with the solstice light. It struck them all at the same time, as they looked at each other and nodded in understanding. It was Barq One-Tooth who articulated the general realization.
“I think we found the Moongarden,” he said.
There was a stabbing pain in his right side. Vaguely, over a long time, he realized that his arm was twisted behind him, almost impossibly bent. Probably it was broken, he thought glumly.
Karyl Drago had very good cause to be glum. He was wedged between the walls of the crevasse, an unknown distance far below the lip.
The big ogre uttered a groan and tried to shift his body around. It was his massive belly that had lodged him here where the chasm walls leaned close together, he realized. In so doing his great girth had saved his life. He had thrown enough loose rocks into this crevasse over his years of duty here. He well knew that it was virtually bottomless. If he had slipped past this spot-he could feel by kicking his legs that the gap was much wider just below-he would have plummeted an unknown, fatal distance.
How had they managed to knock him down here? He reflected on the question, not used to analyzing his own failures following a lost fight. Indeed, he had never been beaten before, though in his time he had battled a half dozen bull ogres at once.
It was that axe! He remembered the fire that had exploded before his eyes, dazzling him, filling him with wonder. The brilliant golden-edged blade had been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen, a miracle that warmed his soul and entranced him. He had been consumed by such a sense of awe that he had gone weak in the knees just from the sight. That weakness had been enough to doom him.
Or was he doomed? With a little more determination, he wiggled around, realizing that his arm, though wrenched, was not broken. Using all of his strength, he pushed on the walls to either side and ever so slowly began to inch upward. After ten minutes he had climbed out of the narrow choke point that had pinned him and was able to support himself with his legs widespread, massive feet braced one on either side of the chasm.
He looked upward. The crevasse was not terribly wide, and he wondered if he might be able to brace himself like this all the way to the top. Grimly he pushed, lifting himself another few inches before he had to shift his feet to new perches. Now he knew he was not trapped here, not doomed.
He chuckled, a rumble echoing through the deep chasm. The chuckle boded well for him and ill for those who had left him here. He would climb out of here and go after them. It was his duty, of course, and he would not let himself fail. He had another secret reason as well. He absolutely had to have another look at the wonderful, beautiful, axe.
15
A nice tryst spoiled
Experience had taught Stariz ber Bane that in the most secret matters of the human heart-that is, the insatiable desire for freedom-normal procedures of intelligence gathering rarely applied. Slaves who were inclined to gossip casually about trysts and alliances, who would gladly discuss thievery and betrayal in matters of lust or greed, became unreasonably tight-lipped when it came to matters of rebellion. Even bribery or torture was of little use once they clamped their mouths shut.
Thus, neither bribery nor torture was the favored tactic of the high priestess as she sought to investigate the sedition in the Nobles’ Market. Oh, certainly Garnet Dane, with his wily ways, might be able to discover a useful bit of knowledge, perhaps even a name, but when it came to learning the full truth behind such a movement, the queen of Suderhold would have to put her trust in a higher source.
Besides, she had a more important use in mind for her spy. The time was near for that crucial task, and she did not want him distracted by mundane matters.
She would pray. Her acolytes, young ogresses sworn to the service of the Willful One, came forward with her tall mask and her sleek black robes. She stood still while they climbed up onto stools around all sides of her. Two of them lowered the obsidian visage over her head, until the comfortable weight rested upon the queen’s square shoulders. She could barely see t
hrough the narrow eye slits of the mask, but it was not her eyes that would serve her best now. When she felt the fullness of the robes draped from her back and her bodice, the smooth wool rustling against the skin of her arms, she was ready.
The acolytes withdrew silently, except for one who tripped and dropped a stool. Stariz stiffened but didn’t turn. The others would identify the clumsy wench, and the high priestess would deal with her later. Instead, she fought for a return to the focus and serenity that had accompanied her donning of the ceremonial garb. Soon she was breathing deeply, seeing only slits of firelight through the mask, but aware of so much more beyond her clothing, beyond the room, the realm, and the world.
She advanced with measured steps, feeling the rumble in the floor as the great door to the inner sanctum rolled to the side. Her strides remained steady as she continued forward, until finally she stopped before the massive black statue that was, in Winterheim, the physical representation of her mighty god. Her heart filled with awe and devotion for her mighty god.
The image of that great bull ogre, carved from shiny black stone and rising more than twenty feet high, loomed in her mind. She imagined the stony eyes turning down to look at her, and she perceived the curiosity, the strength there. More than that, she knew her god was pleased with her, and she silently, solemnly pledged that he would always be pleased with her.
“O Great Gonnas,” she began, “Willful Master of this humble ogress, may it please you to open my eyes and my ears, to fill my senses with the knowledge that will protect your people from the basest of threats.”
With great dignity she slowly knelt on the floor, relishing the feel of the smooth stone against her knees. Carefully she leaned forward to brace herself on her hands. The mask, with its formed shoulder brace, rested firmly over her head as she lowered herself to lie flat upon the floor.
“Please give me a sign, O my Great Lord … a sign that I may use to work against those who seek to do your people harm. Let me know where I may find them, how I may know them.… I will do the rest in your name.”
She lay still, her face pressed to the floor, her vision nothing but blackness. Gradually, however, this impenetrable veil became shot through with stabs of light, flashes that originated in the center of her mind and seemed to radiate outward in pulsing and brilliant waves.
“You are real, O Willful One, and I feel your strength,” murmured the high priest.
The lights pulsed brighter, swirling now, remaining within the confines of her awareness instead of blasting away into nothingness. The flashes merged into a whole, a whirling image of white, and the high priestess held her breath, sensing that revelation approached.
Fear stabbed through her bosom, her guts, her loins-fear of powerlessness, of failure. She was pierced by the knowledge that her king was trying to abandon her, that he would try to escape her-and that if he did, she was finished. This was a warning, clear and direct from her deity. Her worst fears would be realized if she did not do something drastic.
Yes, indeed, it was time for Garnet Dane to perform his task.
She was prepared to rise, to put her plan into motion, but she felt the pressure of the Willful One’s presence forcing her back down for another message. She lay flat again and opened herself to communication with her god. At once she saw there was more to this vision.
She fought for the serenity, the clarity to understand. At last, there it was: an image as clear in detail as it was murky in meaning. Stariz studied that picture, memorizing every detail, unconcerned with the fact that she didn’t, as yet, understand. Full knowledge would come later after she had time to digest and analyze the vision bestowed upon her by her god.
When the image faded at last, once again leaving utter blackness, she remained prostrate for a long time, breathing slowly, reflecting, remembering. At last she pushed herself to her feet, and walking somewhat shakily, she withdrew toward the door that rumbled open to allow her egress. She stood alert without speaking, puzzling over the image she had seen.
She knew what to do about the matter of the king; that plan needed only one final command. As to the rebels, perhaps she would consult with her husband about this matter, for the significance of the sign continued to elude her. She knew there was truth there, but what? How?
Why had her god shown her an image of a dozen blocks of salt?
Grimwar Bane made his way back into his apartment, grateful that Stariz was gone. He allowed his slaves to disrobe him and draw him a bath, and as soon as it was ready he settled into the steaming water, allowing the warmth to soak into his body. He left instructions with his two bodyguards to guard the door and prevent him from being disturbed, even if it meant angering the queen herself.
He thought about Thraid, shaking his head in amazement. He had told her only yesterday about his intentions to send Stariz away. Her delight had been thrilling and her gratitude so intense that he had been left weak in the knees. In those moments of ecstacy the king saw beyond any doubt that he was making the right decision. He had promised to return to her tomorrow, as soon as he could get away, and already he was anticipating that delightful encounter.
The matter of explaining this new reality to Stariz was an unpleasant detail that he would continue to relegate to the future. He had begun to wonder if perhaps he might be rushing things a little too much by speaking to her immediately after the ceremony of Autumnblight, only five days away. There would be plenty of good opportunities as the season waned toward the end of the sunny days in which he could break the news to the queen, informing her that her royal presence was no longer required.
Of course, he would see to it that she had a chance to make a life for herself. Probably he would send her back to Glacierheim. Her father was baron there and in his dotage, but the king would send along a gift-a generous gift-of gold, and count on that to soothe any injured diplomatic feelings. He had two things in his favor: Glacierheim was a long distance away; and the baron’s army was barely a tenth of the size of King Grimwar’s, should it come to that.
Though they did raise some ferocious warriors in Glacierheim, the ogre monarch reminded himself with a shiver. He remembered one particular brute who had come to Winterheim with Stariz a decade before. That fellow, Karyl Drago, was the largest ogre Grimwar Bane had ever seen, strong enough to break the necks of any two normal warriors in a fair fight. Drago had been a strange contrast, brutal in battle yet reduced to a happy sigh by the sight of a little golden mirror or some trinket made from the precious yellow metal. He had actually caused some problems with his uncouth behavior. Fortunately, they had found a post for him some place very much out of the way. At least, the king consoled himself, they couldn’t have too many brutes of Karyl Drago’s size, not in Glacierheim or anywhere else.
He emerged from his bath feeling much refreshed and was pleased when he went into the great room to find that though Stariz had returned, she had waited for him to come out instead of trying to barge in and disturb his reverie. She did have a matter that she wanted to discuss, and his mood was pleasant enough that he was happy to indulge her.
“Do you remember we discussed the slaves in the Nobles’ Market?” she asked him.
“Of course. Did you learn anything?”
“I believe so,” Stariz replied. “That is, the will of Gonnas was revealed to me. After I meditated upon the vision, I could discern what our immortal god in his wisdom was trying to tell me.”
“These rebels? Where can we find them?” Grimwar pressed.
“I think you will find them in the warehouse where the salt is stored. There are many men working there, and I think the proper course of action is to have all of them arrested and killed. It might be hard to sort out the rebels from the ordinary folk, but bad apples spoil the barrel, you know.”
The king stroked his chin. Like so many of Stariz’s tactics, this one seemed drastic. On the other hand, if she had this problem to distract her, that would take her attention away from the king, Thraid Dimmarkull, and the Hi
ghlander slave.
“Interesting thought,” he declared, putting on an air of great contemplation. “Of course you would perform these executions at the ceremony of Autumnblight.”
“Hmmm. I had not carried out my planning to that level of detail, but yes, that would make perfect sense. As always when dealing with sedition, our ideas are in concert, my king. These enemies of the state can be drawn and quartered in different sections of the hall so that everyone can get a good view. The slave king can be gutted at the climax of the festival!”
“Yes, that would make a nice climax,” agreed the king, as he began to think about his dinner. What would the chef be making tonight, he wondered. “It shall be done. I will give the order myself.”
“Good. They can be taken soon, then?”
“I will send a whole company of grenadiers, my queen. They will be taken like fish caught in a strainer net.”
Stariz stood and smiled at him almost tenderly. “Excellent decisiveness, my lord. That is what makes you such a splendid king.”
For once, Grimwar Bane agreed with his wife.
Stariz summoned her spy after her husband had retired for the night, and as usual he wasted no time in arriving at her secret door. Garnet Dane’s eyes flickered nervously as she invited him to enter her chambers, even offering him the unprecedented courtesy of a glass of warqat. She was almost giddy and enjoyed the nervousness tinged with excitement that she saw reflected in her human slave’s eyes.
“You wonder why I have summoned you here so late, do you not?” she said.
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