“It seems they are humans, Sire,” Lord Forlane reported. “Both Arktos and Highlanders, by the report. Oddly enough, there were two women with the leaders. One was small and dark, the other was much larger. She is the one, according to Karyl Drago, who bore that axe of gold, the blade of which burst into fire before his very face.”
“Then it’s true! It is the sacred axe!” declared Stariz, her face transfixed by an expression of fierce joy. “It returns to me!”
“The Axe of Gonnas …”
All too well Grimwar Bane remembered his wife’s dream of some nights before-at least at the time, he had dismissed it has a dream-that the sacred axe was near and was returning to her temple.
For the first time since discovering his lover’s body, he began to wonder if perhaps the humans really were to blame for all his troubles.
“Very well. We must act at once,” declared the king stoutly, suddenly seeing exactly what needed to be done. “Forlane, I want you to find Captain Verra. Command him to muster all the grenadiers. He is to watch the approach into the city from the Moongarden as well as keep an eye on the slaves at the Seagate and in the lumber yards. We don’t want to take any chances. If he notices any signs of an insurrection, he must act quickly and without mercy to contain the slaves.”
Suddenly that nightmare possibility, the notion he had discussed as a hypothetical with Captain Verra just a few days before, seemed a real danger. Had the slaves of Winterheim, the humans who outnumbered their ogre masters by two or three to one, somehow organized a revolt?
“Aye, Sire! It shall be as you command!” declared the noble ogre.
“What about the higher levels of the city?” asked the queen, her eyes wide.
“I myself will take command up here,” said Grimwar Bane. “I will send the entire palace garrison to guard the ramps, to make sure there is no chance for intruders-be they Arktos or Highlanders … or rebellious slaves! — to work any mischief in the upper reaches of Winterheim!”
“Make haste! Make haste!” barked the queen. “Find the Axe of Gonnas and bring it here to me at once!”
The lord looked at the king for confirmation. Grimwar grimaced but then nodded.
“Yes!” he ordered. “Do as she says!”
“Mouse, there’s something bad going on out there!”
The Arktos warrior sat up groggily, shaking the sleep from his mind. It was Feathertail, he saw, and she was speaking quietly but with undeniable urgency. He remembered she was one of the warriors who had stayed on guard duty while he settled down to get some much-needed rest.
Without a word, he followed her to the lip of the grotto where the human warriors had concealed themselves. They both crawled forward, peering between a pair of massive fungi stalks, to peer into the great breadth of the Moongarden. They had seen a huge ogre go through a few hours before, coming from the same direction the war party had taken, and Mouse had even speculated on the resemblance between that gigantic creature and the monstrous guardian at the Icewall Gate, the brute who had vanished into the crevasse. There had been no unusual activity since then, until the braying of the horns that had coincided with Mouse awakening.
Now Mouse immediately saw a group of ogres, a dozen or more of them, moving across an open field at a jog. The brutes wore cloaks of red and carried spears in both hands, the weapons’ gleaming tips angled before them aggressively. One, apparently a captain, shouting and gestured, and several of the ogres broke away from the main group to charge into a narrow, shaded trail between the groves of giant mushrooms.
“They’re looking for us, I think,” Feathertail whispered. “There are three or four groups of them running around like that.”
Mouse felt a stab of fear. “Some kind of alarm has gone out.” He thought of Moreen and her companions and sent a silent prayer to Chislev Wilder pleading for their safety. What should he do now?
Thane Larsgall came rushing up to them, sliding to his own perch on the lip of the drop off. The waterfall plunged nearby, noisy enough that it would cover any slight sounds they made.
“Sooner or later they’ll make their way up here,” the Highlander noted.
Mouse nodded. “I guess we’d better keep our weapons handy and get ready. At least they won’t take us by surprise!”
Stariz watched her husband through narrowed eyes. The king had momentarily forgotten all about Thraid’s murder-a good thing too, since it was proving hard to convince him that the slave king was the culprit. Thus, the distraction of the human intruders could not have come at a better time, for Stariz had almost begun to fear for her life. Now that the king was involved in this new crisis, she could set aside the problem of the dead mistress and later find other ways to win him over. In fact, she could use clerical magic to fog his mind if it became necessary.
Hmmm, that was a good idea.
Right now there was one thing more important than all else, only one truth that dominated her thoughts and infused her with hope and passion.
The Axe of Gonnas! These intruders had it with them. It was only a matter of time until it was returned to her!
The huge ogre had honed in on Bruni and Barq, barking and jabbering as he pressed them against the wall of the corridor. They shielded the basket containing the golden axe, which momentarily stayed his attack. Kerrick, Moreen, and the slave girl edged outside the ring of other ogre guards and for the moment were ignored in the confusion.
The elf saw Moreen’s hand slip under her robe and knew she was making a move for the sword she wore concealed there. He stepped into her roughly, taking her elbow in a firm grip, pushing her away from the throng of ogres converging around Bruni and Barq. From the corner of his eye, the elf saw Tookie also scamper away, avoiding the melee.
“Let me go!” demanded the chiefwoman, her voice a hiss of fury.
“No,” he replied, levelly.
Forcefully he pulled her to the side, where many other slaves were gathering to watch the unfolding events. He turned them around so they too could watch Bruni and Barq but kept his hand firmly on her arm. This time she didn’t try to break away from him.
“They’re caught,” he whispered. “We can’t do anything against twenty ogres! The worst thing we can do is to get taken with them-then all our hope is gone!”
More guards converged from before them, and the two big humans were flattened against the wall of the corridor with nowhere to go. Barq and Bruni stood back to back now, the basket containing the axe on the ground behind their legs. They had the good sense not to flourish their weapons against the score or more of ogres who had them trapped.
The biggest ogre, Kerrick realized with astonishment, was the very monster they had battled in the gateway, the giant who had tumbled into the crevasse, where they had assumed, mistakenly, he had perished. His face was scratched and bloody, and streaks of mud marred his cloak and tunic, but his voice was as strong as ever as he shouted, “They bear the golden axe, and they fought through my gate. They are intruders into Winterheim and must be brought before the king for judgment.”
He shoved them aside and knelt to grab the Axe of Gonnas, from the floor. His eyes were wide with wonder as he lifted the blade of solid gold, and for several long heartbeats it seemed as though he had forgotten everything else-the prisoners, the mob of ogre guards who seemed to be waiting for some kind of command, the throng of slaves who cowered nearby.
Kerrick noticed Tookie coming back, wiggling through the crowd until she came to a stop beside Moreen. She took the chiefwoman’s hand.
“We have to help!” Moreen insisted, but the slave girl shook her head. The chiefwoman looked to Kerrick for support, but he nodded in agreement with Tookie.
“Tookie’s right. The best thing we can do for our companions now is to try and keep from getting captured.”
Angrily she pulled her elbow from his grasp, rubbing the skin where, no doubt, he had clutched her hard enough to leave a deep bruise. She stayed rooted to her spot, watching in anguish.
“T
ake these prisoners to the royal dungeon,” cried the huge ogre, at last tearing his eyes free from the entrancing axe. Abruptly, he spun about, his big face contorting in concentration as he started to look over the throng of slaves that included Kerrick, Moreen, and Tookie.
“There were more humans, lots, with them,” grunted the ogre. His big hand came up, a finger as large as a sausage extending in the general direction of Moreen.
“You there!” he barked, suddenly. “Take off your hood.”
In that instant Kerrick he knew that he had to act. He gave the woman a shove, relieved as Moreen and Tookie joined the rest of the slaves in sprinting away, racing up the corridor toward Winterheim. Instead the elf lunged forward, drawing his own sword, slashing the weapon as he rushed at the hulking ogre warrior.
Another one of the brutes stepped into his path, raising a spear to block the lethal blade, but Kerrick was too quick, lancing under the parry to stab his long sword right into the ogre’s guts. With a howl the creature fell backward, tumbling into his oversized comrade, knocking several other ogres off balance.
As he fell, however, his speartip swept around and caught the corner of Kerrick’s hood, pulling the woolen shroud from the elf’s head. Spinning on one foot, the Silvanesti sprinted after the fleeing slaves, trying to sheath his sword and pull the hood back over his golden hair and pointed ear. Knowing that he had no chance to save Bruni and Barq did nothing to assuage his misery as he abandoned his two loyal companions in the grasp of a half dozen ogre warriors.
One more thing caused his heart to sink, as he dashed away. It was shouted by a guard, loud enough to echo through the hall and confirm that he had been identified.
“An elf!” came the cry. “An elf has come to Winterheim!”
19
A meeting in the dark
You go in here,” said the ogre, roughly pushing Bruni through a low doorway. She ducked so that she didn’t bump her head and found herself in a large, stone-walled room where several dozen humans sat listlessly on the floor. Most, possibly all of them, were chained to the walls, though it was hard to make out many details in the near total darkness of the large cell.
She heard a burst of violence behind her and turned to see Barq One-Tooth struggling in the grip of another of their captors. The big Highlander tried to throw a punch but instead took a hard blow on his head from the hilt of a grenadier’s sword. Groaning, he staggered and was pushed unceremoniously through the door to sprawl heavily on the floor.
The large woman knelt beside him, touching his head, feeling the sticky ooze of blood. Barq groaned and sat up, rubbing the wound then pulling his hand away to look at his bloody fingers.
“You’d think I’d learn to pick my fights better,” he growled in disgust.
“It was a nice gesture,” Bruni told him, “hopeless but nice.”
“Bastards!” snarled the man, glaring at the metal door that clanged shut across the dungeon entrance.
He turned his attention to their surroundings, blinking in surprise as he saw the other men in the cell, all of whom seemed to be watching them with interest. There was a rattle of iron from one of the corners as one or two prisoners tried to stir. As she squinted into the darkness, Bruni perceived that many, perhaps all, of these men were secured in place with heavy chains.
“Where are we?” Barq One-Tooth demanded.
“The queen’s own dungeon,” muttered one fellow disgustedly. “We’re locked up here till she finds the time to kill us. Don’t worry-it shouldn’t be long now.”
“Cheery thought,” Bruni said. “I know what we did to get tossed in here, but what about the rest of you?”
“Don’t talk to her!” snapped one of the men, a swarthy fellow who was chained to the wall by both wrists. “She could be a spy-just like Thraid’s lackey, over there!”
The prisoner spat contemptuously at another of the captives, a thin, bearded man in the far corner of the room. He, too, was chained and was gazing at the two newcomers with a strange expression.
Bruni thought the man looked familiar and was trying to place him when Barq One-Tooth cried out. He crossed to the prisoner and knelt before him. “Sire! May Kradok smite those who would dare to restrain you thus!”
“Strongwind Whalebone?” Bruni exclaimed in wonder. “Is that truly you?”
Their words provoked a startled reaction among the prisoners, several of whom whispered among themselves or muttered words of disbelief. The man was thin and haggard, bedraggled enough that he looked like a different, much smaller monarch than the noble Strongwind she remembered, but those eyes and that tight smile were un-mistakeable.
“Aye, it is, Bruni of Brackenrock and my old thane Barq One-Tooth. How did those ogre scum-lords acquire you two?”
Bruni was about to counsel discretion, at least in what they said within hearing of the rest of these prisoners, but the Barq spoke bluntly.
“We came to rescue you,” he said, shaking his head miserably. “The Lady of Brackenrock brought us here, she and the elf and a small force of volunteers, but Bruni and I were taken as we tried to penetrate the city. My Lord King, we have failed you! May all the gods strike me down as just punishment!”
Strongwind’s eyes all but bulged out of his head. Impatiently he waved off Barq’s continuing efforts at apology. “The Lady-Moreen Bayguard is alive?” he asked. “She survived the disaster at Brackenrock? How? That’s wonderful news!” He glowered, suddenly and looked askance at Bruni. “Was she captured as well? Where is she?”
“She and Kerrick avoided capture when we were taken, as best as I could see. Barq and I were carrying the Axe of Gonnas. It was hidden in a basket, but somehow it gave us away.”
“You dared come to Winterheim to rescue me? That’s mad!” Strongwind said in despair, still looking at Bruni.
“I came because Moreen was coming,” the big woman said tartly. “There was nothing I or anyone else could say that would have deterred her from the path she had chosen. She felt responsible for your capture. It was the honorable course of action.”
“How did she ever think she could succeed? No one has ever been rescued from this place!” Strongwind shook his head in agitation. “It is a hopeless quest!”
“I fear, Sire, that I must bear some blame for that,” Barq said, hanging his head in shame. “Some of the thanes … led by myself … well, we were all set to accuse the lady of treachery when you failed to return from Dracoheim. Of course, we realized that she was a true friend to you when she declared for this quest. There was not a man from all the Highlands who would not have gone along with her.”
Strongwind Whalebone slumped back against the wall, his eyes closed. When he spoke to Barq it was not in anger but in a tone of disappointment that Bruni suspected might cut even deeper than rage.
“Mad Randall and I … we gave ourselves willingly on Dracoheim to allow Moreen a chance to succeed in destroying the Golden Orb. Randall perished, and I was taken by the ogres. Even now that I know that the lady lives, I have to judge that day a success. What a blow … to learn that my own capture has led to her undoing! This is too heavy a burden to bear. It were better I died that day than to have drawn her into this ice-walled trap.”
“Sire, don’t say that!” Barq pleaded miserably. “She still lives, and we’ll find a way out of here, you watch. That elf is a brave one, and he has a million tricks, too. There is still the party of brave warriors who came with us, and they’re not done yet!”
“More madness,” said the slave king, with a dejected groan. “I cannot be the cause of so many deaths. I am not that important!”
Bruni looked around at the other prisoners, who were watching with expressions of amazement. The swarthy captive who had first spoken so accusingly of the Highlander spoke up again.
“Is it true, then-you really are Strongwind Whalebone, the king of Guilderglow? When we were captured, I thought that was a ruse to win our trust, but the heir to the Whalebone kings is here, rotting here in an ogre dungeon?�
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“It’s true,” Bruni replied testily. “He is as brave and true a man as you will find in all the Icereach.”
The man cried out as though in physical pain. “Forgive me, Majesty. I accused you of the basest form of treachery. I am a fool!”
“You’re a brave man,” Strongwind said kindly, “and a suspicious one, as you were forced to be. Had our positions been reversed, I no doubt would have been wary of you as well.”
“Is there any way out of here? Can we try to fight our way past the guards?” asked Barq One-Tooth hopefully.
Strongwind shook his head. “There are steel doors holding us here and plenty of guards on the outside.”
“It is up to Kerrick and Moreen, then,” Bruni said. When all the men looked at the floor, she added, “There are no better allies to have at a time like this.”
“Pray to Chislev and to Kradok and to all the gods, then,” said Strongwind solemnly. “May our friends be stricken with true inspiration and no shortage of good luck.”
“Aye, and amen,” said Bruni, bowing her head and adding her own hopes to that prayer.
“Sire!” The ogre courier was panting, his face slicked with sweat. He burst into the throne room without so much as a bow or word of permission from the guards at the door. Staggering forward wearily, he threw himself on the floor at Grimwar Bane’s feet.
“What is it? Speak, man!” demanded the ogre monarch.
He loomed over the fellow, stifling the urge to deliver a swift kick to get the man’s tongue going. Stariz made a move to step forward, as if she would deliver the blow herself, but a glare from her husband bade her hold in place a dozen paces away. Her eyes were bright as she stared at the courier, and Grimwar was irked at the thought that she, with her powers, might already have intuited the ogre’s news while he himself lacked even a clue.
With great effort the messenger pushed himself to his hands and knees and drew several deep, rasping breaths. Finally he lifted his head to meet the king’s eyes.
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