Don Bassingthwaite - The Grieving Tree

He sounded barely convinced by his own answer. Singe frowned. “What do you care if I’m interested in the ruins?”

The goblin flinched a second time. He started to look around again.

Ashi bent sharply to whisper in Singe’s ear. “On your left-there’s a hobgoblin woman in the crowd. She’s giving him cues.” The wizard turned his head.

If he hadn’t been looking for her, he probably would have missed the hobgoblin woman completely. She had slipped herself in beside a group of gnolls, their height hiding hers, their brownish fur making her yellowish skin and orange-brown hair stand out a little less. Black leather armor studded with darkened rivets blended into the shadows of the taproom.

Her furry ears stood high and were turned toward their table. She was gesturing to Moza, her mouth shaping exaggerated words.

Between one heartbeat and the next, however, dark eyes met Singe’s gaze. The hobgoblin froze for an instant, then dropped down, vanishing among the crowd.

Singe leaped to his feet, taking a fast step in the hobgoblin’s direction as Ashi lunged across the table to grab for Moza. The goblin squealed and slipped away from her grasping fingers, slithering down out of the chair. Dandra and Natrac flinched. “What are you doing?” Natrac asked in a yelp.

“There was a hobgoblin,” growled Geth. “I saw her.”

“That was a set-up!” spat Singe. “Someone is-”

Before he could say anything more or take another step, the door of the taproom opened-and for the first time, the patrons of the Barrel grew silent and still.

The sun was beginning to set outside and in from the fiery brightness stepped two … four … six ogres. Unlike the ogre that had accosted Ashi in the street, however, these were clean and well-groomed. Singe couldn’t have said that they looked any more intelligent, but they moved with a purpose and discipline that was distinctly unusual in an ogre.

All of them carried massive maces and wore stiff jerkins of heavy hide. Emblazoned on the jerkins was the insignia of a four-pointed blue star. Tzaryan Rrac’s insignia.

“Twelve bloody moons,” Singe cursed under his breath. “What are they doing here?” He eased back to the table. The others did the same, those who were standing crouching down a bit to make themselves less conspicuous.

Through the open door, Singe could see the silhouettes of at least two more ogres standing guard outside. The ogres inside the Barrel scanned the silent room. The gnoll barkeep hurried up to the largest of the monsters. The ogres that flanked him raised their weapons at her approach but lowered them again at a glance from their leader. He and the gnoll exchanged words.

Her hand rose and pointed straight to Singe and the others. The ogre leader nodded and made his way across the room. The Barrel’s patrons pressed back out of his path.

“Tiger!” hissed Geth. “What do we do?”

Singe swallowed. “Act calm,” he said. He sat up straight in his chair and the ogre leader leaned across the table. Even cleaned up, the monster’s breath reeked of decayed meat.

“Are you Timin Shay? he asked.

Timin Shay had been a childhood friend killed in a cart accident as a young man. Singe had taken to using the name as an alias long ago. He’d given it to the innkeeper of the Barrel. “Yes,” he said. “I am. What’s this about?”

“You’re looking for a guide to Tzaryan Keep?”

The ogre pronounced each of its words with care, as if taught to speak the language properly. Singe nodded. A hint of relief, as if he was pleased that he had found the right human, flickered in the ogre’s eyes. He stood straight. “I serve Tzaryan Rrac. By order of the general, you are invited to travel with us as we return to Tzaryan Keep.”

Singe blinked in surprise, then looked left and right to Dandra and Geth. The kalashtar and the shifter both wore started expressions as well. He looked back to the ogre. The general … Bava and Natrac had said that Tzaryan Rrac had hired a veteran general of the Last War to train his troops. Judging by the utter change in the ogres standing before them, his training was extremely effective. Singe licked his lips, trying to think of what to do.

“What’s your general’s name?” he asked.

“He is the General,” the ogre said.

Singe clenched his teeth. “Fair enough,” he said. “How does the General know I’m looking for a guide to Tzaryan Keep?”

The ogre looked as if he was trying to find an answer to an unexpected question in an unfamiliar language. “The General hears about your looking,” he said awkwardly.

“The General hears quickly,” said Dandra. “What is he doing in Vralkek anyway?”

The ogre’s face tensed in frustration. “The General brought us to Vralkek to test our discipline.”

Singe heard someone else’s voice behind the ogre’s word; he had probably learned the response by rote after listening to orders from his commander over and over again. The presence of Tzaryan’s troops in Vralkek was an annoying coincidence, but it was plausible. Placing troops into an urban setting to test their discipline was a common enough training practice. Robrand d’Deneith had done the same thing to him and Geth when they were being trained in the Frostbrand. He glanced at the shifter again.

Geth narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Don’t accept.

Singe looked Dandra. She shrugged. Maybe.

His gut told him that the General’s invitation, if unexpected, was a boon to them. In the company of ogre troops, they would be safe from virtually any danger they might encounter. There would be no doubt that Tzaryan Rrac would know they were coming. They would probably even be escorted right to the ogre mage if they asked for it.

On the other hand, his head told him to be wary. The thought of traveling with this unknown general, among ogre troops, directly into the presence of someone they were, after all, trying to deceive, seemed too dangerous. It was far too simple and far too convenient. They were putting themselves directly into Tzaryan Rrac’s power.

He bent his head toward the ogre. “Thank the General for his invitation, but we prefer to travel on our own.”

The ogre looked completely confused. His sloping forehead rippled into furrows deep as a plowed field. “By order of the general, you are invited to travel with us as we return to Tzaryan Keep,” he repeated, this time with greater force-and a different emphasis. He gestured and the ogres with him moved to stand beside the table.

“Singe,” growled Geth quietly, “I don’t think this is exactly an invitation.”

“Figured that out, did you?” Singe asked. Six of them, six ogres, he thought-they were evenly matched, at least until the troops outside the Barrel came in. They were also surrounded and in a very cramped space. Even if they could fight their way free, though, they would have earned themselves an enemy close to Tzaryan Rrac.

He looked up at the ogre leader and smiled. “I misunderstood,” he said. “Of course, we’d be honored to accept the General’s protection in our travels. Would it be possible for me to meet him to offer my thanks in person?”

The ogre looked relieved but his answer to the request was blunt. “No,” he said. “But she can.” His eyes settled on Dandra-then wavered to Ashi. For a moment, he looked confused again, then he thrust a finger at Dandra. “Her,” he said decisively. “The General asks her to ride with him on the journey.”

Singe stiffened. “What? No!”

Dandra, however, was already rising. “I’d be honored,” she said-even as the kesh brushed Singe’s mind. Don’t worry , she told him silently, I’ll be fine .

You’ll be a hostage! Singe warned her.