“Your Majesty, the Axe of Gonnas is reclaimed!” he gasped.
“I knew it!” crowed the queen. “Behold the will of Gonnas! His talisman is returned to his rightful house! Where is it?” she demanded, stalking forward to stand over the messenger.
“Karyl Drago himself brings it here, Highness!” explained the panting ogre. “I came from there now, from the Moongarden Road. There he discovered two humans bringing the axe into the city. They are prisoners now, and he captured the axe for you.” The fellow blinked suddenly and looked back at the king. “That is, for you, Your Majesty.”
“Do not forget who your monarch is,” growled Grimwar Bane. He was looking at the courier but speaking to his wife.
“Certainly, my king. It was Karyl Drago who found the humans and took them with the aid of a party of grenadiers. He would let none other than himself hold the axe, which he clutched to himself most carefully. He bade me race ahead with news while he follows with the axe itself.”
“You mention two captives? I heard a report of a small army of intruders coming through the Icewall Gate. Is that all who were taken?”
“Aye, Majesty-just the two, for now. One was a Highlander warrior, the other a large woman, apparently Arktos. A third was spotted, and he attacked in an effort to free the two. I regret to report that he made his escape out of the Moongarden tunnel, losing himself in the warehouses above the harbor.”
“That is regretful,” agreed the king. “Did anyone get a look at this third rogue?”
“Indeed, Sire. One of the guards stabbed at him and ripped his robe away. From Drago’s description-this is hard to believe, I know-it is possible that one of these intruders may be an elf!”
Grimwar Bane’s world suddenly grew dark around him. He staggered over to the great throne, collapsing into the stone seat as though he had suddenly been drained of the strength to stand.
“Did you say … ‘an elf’?” he croaked.
“Er, yes, sire. Drago noted that he had only one full ear, an unusual ear, long and pointed; the other was stunted or scarred. Also, his hair was an unnatural gold color and his eyes large and green.”
“Just one ear?” Nightmares were swirling up from his subconscious, memories of a cursed threat that had been vanquished-certainly destroyed-in the disaster at Dracoheim. “Was there a woman with him, a small creature with dark hair?”
The messenger looked surprised. “Indeed, your Majesty. Drago reported that two of the attackers were women, and one matches the description you just gave me.”
Suddenly the king had to sit down. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. He shook off the feeling and looked around him with grim determination.
“Summon the prisoner to me,” he ordered, “the human woman. Also, have the guards bring up the slave king, Strongwind Whalebone. I would speak to both of them and try to learn what is going on.”
The conversations among the prisoners ceased abruptly as a key clanked in the door of the cell, and the metal barrier creaked open. Four heavily armed ogres came in, swords raised threateningly. A fifth, apparently an officer, entered and gestured to Bruni and Strongwind Whalebone.
“We are taking you to the throne room. The king and queen want to have some words with you.” He chuckled wickedly as Strongwind Whalebone pulled at his manacles, struggling in vain against the ogres who hauled upon his chains, pulling him roughly to his feet and dragging him toward the door. “The queen’ll probably want to thank you. Maybe she’ll even give you a reward,” he said mockingly.
“What do you mean?” the Highlander king demanded.
“Well, I think you did her quite a favor, when you killed the Lady Thraid Dimmarkull. Quite a slice that was, right through her throat. She must have bled for an hour!”
Bruni saw Strongwind’s face go pale with shock, then she was turned and roughly pushed out the door, the troop of ogres coming right behind.
Dinekki had spent much time beside the small, dark pool, muttering over incantations, casting her knucklebones, and otherwise seeking some sign via the pathways of Chislev Wilder. Occasionally Mouse saw flashes of light bursting between the stalks of the giant mushrooms or heard rumbles of noise that sounded very much like thunder. The rocks shivered under his feet.
The Arktos warrior had for the most part kept his eyes on the cavern. The ogres were searching systematically out there. Thus far their patrols had been busy on the far side of the central stream, but he knew that it was just a matter of time before they would cross that waterway and make their way up to the Port Grotto.
Finally Dinekki came out of the cave with her wrinkled face darkened by a frown of deep concern.
“What is it?” asked Mouse.
“Trouble,” the shaman said cryptically. “Can’t tell exactly what’s gone wrong, but the signs are clear: Moreen and Kerrick have run into some bad luck, and it’s only likely to get worse.”
“What can we do?” Mouse wondered, staring in frustration at the marching column of ogres amid the green, fertile cave.
The ubiquitous bats were circling, diving to the canopies of the great mushrooms, sometimes ducking even between the stalks before they again circled to the heights.
“Well, don’t know for sure one way or t’other, but I guess I’d better go and see what I can find out.” The shaman clucked her tongue crossly and glared at the vast cavern as if it had somehow offended her.
“You mean, sneak past all those guards?” blurted the Arktos warrior. “No, Dinekki! Even you can’t do that.”
“Not in this body, fool,” snapped the old woman. “Do you think these old legs could outrun even a one-legged ogre?”
“Well, no.”
“Then don’t be talking about stupid ideas.”
“Then … how?”
The old woman made no answer. Instead, she went down into her little niche again and came out with a white shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders. “You wait there,” she told him.
Mouse sat behind the stalk of a giant mushroom as she muttered, chanted, and prayed in the midst of the war party. He couldn’t see her but heard her call out, making strange animal noises again.
He noticed the bats growing agitated, several of them flying toward him, fluttering close over his head. More and more of the tiny creatures swirled around.
Abruptly the bats winged away in unison, flying low across the serene cavern, then flapping briskly, gaining altitude. Most rose quickly, though one lagged behind the others, clearly straining to keep up. He watched them fly away, vanishing in the direction of Winterheim. The silence was eerie and oppressive, and at last he decided to risk the old woman’s wrath.
“Dinekki?” he called.
There was no reply. Quickly he leaped up to the edge of the cliff, fearing that the old woman had come to some harm.
The lip of the precipice was empty. Frantically he looked down, afraid that perhaps Dinekki had fallen, but there was no sign of the woman or of her white shawl on the mossy rocks below.
Only then did he understand, looking toward the place where the bats had flown. Dinekki was not here … not on the rocks … the answer was clear.
She had flown away with the bats.
Stariz brought Garnet Dane to her private sanctum, the small, incense-sweet room behind the great temple sanctuary. She saw by his tight smile that he was pleased with himself, and she decided to allow him this small pleasure.
Indeed, he had done well.
“The Lady Thraid is dead,” she remarked matter-of-factly. “You have performed the task that I required of you adequately.”
“Thank you, gracious queen,” said the man, pressing his face to the floor.
“Did you enlist your female accomplice in the act?”
She was curious about this human woman Garnet Dane had alluded to, wondering who this person was who could perform such bloodletting and yet remain concealed among the ranks of her slave kind. Sooner or later, the queen would have to learn her identity, for she could prove to be
very useful.
“Indeed, my queen. She had better access to the lady, so it was she who wielded the knife. She serves you willingly and loyally.”
“I shall need the use of her again soon. I will trust that she will serve as well as she did in the matter of the Lady Thraid,” said the high priestess.
“Yes, Majesty.” Garnet Dane’s eyes were bright with the lust for another killing. “How may we serve you this time?”
“There is an elf loose in the city. He will undoubtedly try to link up with the rebellious elements among the slaves. I do not know where he is, though it seems he entered from the Moongarden.”
“I will have all of my ears alert, looking for any word or sign of such an intruder,” said the human, groveling. “I will report at once, should anything come to my-”
“Fool!” she snapped, relishing the involuntary flinch in the man’s craven frame. “I do not seek information. As soon as you or she finds him, make sure that he dies!”
20
That Kender Again
Here-you can hide for a time, while I try to find out where the ogres are taking your friends,” Tookie said, pushing open a door and leading Moreen and Kerrick into a small, dark room. Moreen was out of breath, her heart was pounding, and her palms were slick with sweat.
“What is this place?” asked the elf, sniffing cautiously.
“Well, it used to be a brewery for warqat,” the slave girl replied. “Now I think they just store the barley and stuff in here. Nobody comes around this way any more, so you two should be safe here for enough time for me to go and look for Tildy Trew. She’s the one who will probably know where your friends are being taken. She knows a lot for a slave. Wait for me right here, okay? I’ll see if I can get her or someone else to help.”
Moreen knelt and took the child by the shoulders, looking into her tear-stained face. “You have been very brave, and you’ve helped us a lot. That big ogre came after us because we fought him two days before we met you. You have to help us a little longer, but I’m sorry, for getting you into danger.”
“Danger?” the girl snorted. “This is the most fun I’ve had in my whole life! Don’t worry. We’ll find where your friends are … and … and do something!”
“You are a great friend,” Kerrick said, touching her gently on the shoulder, “and Moreen is right, you are very, very brave. We owe you a lot already, and we thank you.”
A moment later Tookie had slipped out through the storeroom door, leaving the elf and the chiefwoman in the large, shadowy chamber.
“I’m frightened,” Moreen found herself saying, surprised at her own admission. “I can’t stand waiting here! We have to try and do something!” She paced a short distance, turned back in agitation, then glared around at their surroundings.
“I’m frightened too,” replied Kerrick. “Seems like a pretty natural reaction to our situation, wouldn’t you say? Let’s have a look around and take our mind off our troubles.”
To Moreen the chamber looked almost midnight dark, though Kerrick assured her that his elf eyes could make out some details. He removed one of the torches from their equipment basket and ignited it, sending flickering yellow illumination throughout the cavernous room.
They found several stacks of massive kegs and judged them to be empty by the hollow sounds when they tapped the sides. Much of the floor was covered in a layer of tangled straw, and several alcoves with raised floors branched into different directions from the three interior walls.
“You take the torch,” Kerrick said. “Check out those rooms over there. I’ll have a look on the other side.”
The chiefwoman was reluctant to separate from her old friend, but she agreed and investigated the first two alcoves. These seemed like additional storage rooms, smelling dank, musty, and vaguely sweet. A few crates and barrels were stacked about, and there was a heavy layer of dust over everything. She found no sign of a doorway or any connecting passage in either place.
Carrying her torch back into the main room, she was startled to hear soft voices coming from behind one of the stacks. She crept forward, trembling, hoping that it was only Tookie coming back. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, ready to attack if this was a threat.
She recognized the elf’s voice, but he didn’t sound frightened or agitated. Leaning closer, she tried to hear what he was saying.
“… hiding in here, for now, but we’ve got to do something. We’re both going to go crazy if we just have to sit around and wait!” the elf declared.
“Well, then find something useful to do,” replied the second voice, with a sense of mild exasperation.
The tone was childlike, but it wasn’t Tookie. Instead, it was male, and though high-pitched it sounded vaguely mature.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Kerrick declared sharply.
Moreen came around the stack, holding up the torch. Kerrick chuckled shyly as he saw her and shook his head apologetically. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t find anything. Then, I guess the dark just kind of got to me-I was having a quiet conversation with my imaginary friend.”
“Coraltop Netfisher?” the chiefwoman said in awe, looking wide-eyed into the shadows past the elf.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” the elf replied. “I know it makes me seem kind of crazy … what is it?” he asked, seeing her expression of amazement.
“If he’s imaginary,” she replied quietly, “why can I see him?”
Captain Verra paced restlessly on the edge of the market, looking at the tangle of docks. Crates and barrels were stacked up, great lengths of rope coiled, and all manner of nets and oars piled haphazardly here and there. In time of peace they were useful for all manner of nautical tasks, but he had no care for that.
Right now, each of them looked like a potential hiding place for an elf intruder, or any number of rebellious slaves.
Farther along the wharf long racks of fish hung to dry over beds of charcoal that had yet to be ignited. The sawmill hummed in the lumberyard as slave labor turned the heavy gears, whirling the blade through one after another log of fresh pine, splitting the timbers into boards. Stacks of wood were growing in the vast storage yards, but all he could thnk of was the slaves moving to and fro. He wondered what they were planning, feeling.
He had received the king’s orders via a message tube that had been tossed down the city’s atrium to land, with a loud splash, in the waters of the harbor. One of Verra’s men had fished it out with a long pole, and the captain had quickly read the directive, and acted on it.
“Elf loose in the city … potential uprising of slaves … human war party penetrated the Icewall Gate and Moongarden …”
How could this be happening?
Verra was grateful that he had warned the king of a possible human insurrection only a few days earlier, yet now that he was confronted with the reality he felt woefully unprepared. He had three hundred ogres under his direct command here in the main square, with hundreds more scattered in detachments around the harbor level, but there were so many humans!
In agitation, he reviewed what he had done so far. First, he had secured the Seagate slaves in their vast warren. The humans in there numbered nearly a thousand in total, and they were now locked behind double doors of heavy steel, with hinges anchored several feet deep into the bedrock of the mountain. A dozen ogres stood guard at the second, outer door, while an equal number had commanding positions over the corridor, which the humans would have to traverse if somehow they managed to break out. Verra was satisfied that the Seagate slaves were safely locked away.
The slaves in the lumber yard numbered nearly an equal amount, but he had been unable to curtail them as effectively. For one thing, that vast work site was busy with cutting the timber that had been hauled across the tundra by the summer work parties. Much of that wood was needed for the Ceremony of Autumnblight, only two days away, and Verra had been reluctant to halt the work based on mere suspicions, so more and more boards made fresh piles, slaves carrying the plan
ks from the saw to the storage racks.
Since he could not close the yard, he had posted an extra company of grenadiers-fifty veteran ogres-to reinforce the three score overseers who usually maintained order in the area. The odds were not unfavorable, but he had instructed his troops to be quick with the whip and vigilant.
The other work sites on the harbor level-the fish house and tanning factory, notably-only housed a few hundred slaves apiece. Verra had increased the guards at each of these and had given instructions for extra caution and discipline. He had ordered his troops to report anything the least bit out of the ordinary and had impressed upon them the seriousness of the situation. Now he could only wait.
He shuddered nervously, unable to shake the fear that he was forgetting something that might prove to be very important.
“You’re Moreen Bayguard,” declared Coraltop Netfisher. The diminutive fellow advanced with a wide smile and an outstretched hand. “It is a real pleasure to meet you. I mean I’ve been hearing about you for, oh, I don’t know how many years. It’s great to meet you!” He took her hand and pumped it, his small fingers wiry and strong in her own grip. “You came here to help Kerrick, of course. I’m glad. I try to give him a hand now and then, but Zivilyn Greentree knows I can’t do everything!”
“Um … likewise, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard very much about you over the years, too,” replied the chiefwoman.
She was stunned to see this little person, talking to Kerrick. He could not have entered through the door of the warehouse without attracting her attention. She was just as certain that he was really, truly, standing here in front of her.
“Where did you come from? How did you get in here, and find us?”
“Oh, I keep pretty close tabs on Kerrick here,” said the kender. He looked just as the elf had so often described him, wearing a plain green tunic and soft deerskin boots. His hair was tied in a long topknot that gathered at the crown of his head then flowed like a mane down his back. He leaned close and winked at Moreen. “I don’t know if you noticed, but he has a way of getting himself into trouble. I’ve tried to help him out, whenever I can. I guess you do that too. He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have us! Why, there was a time he was sailing along, barely paying attention, and he just about smacked into a dragon turtle! If I hadn’t come along just then-”
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