Douglas Niles - Winterheim

At the drunken brawls that passed for the baron’s celebrations, no one wanted to sit next to Karyl Drago. Not only did he take up enough bench space for any two normal ogres, but he jealously and aggressively reached for every scrap of food, every tankard of beverage, that came within reach. Since his arms were as correspondingly huge as the rest of him, this inevitably resulted in a scouring of the banquet table that left very few tidbits for the other ogres in the immediate area.

Any attempt to redress this matter would inevitably provoke the great brute to violence, and no one-or two or even three-wanted to face up to Karyl Drago when he was enraged. Also futile was the effort undertaken by the baron himself to speak to the ogre after such incidents. Drago would willingly agree to behave himself next time, and he certainly meant those words, yet he would just as certainly forget his promises when once again subjected to the temptations of roast bear haunch or seasoned warqat.

When the baron’s daughter, Stariz ber Glacierheim, had been summoned to the royal capital by the former king, Grimtruth Bane, as a suitable match for his son, Grimwar, the baron had sent a score of warriors from his own garrison as an honor guard to accompany Stariz to Winterheim and to stay with her in the city. He took a great deal of pleasure in assigning Karyl Drago to this detachment.

Drago’s own reactions to this move were straightforward. He did as he was ordered, of course, and indeed he looked forward to life in Winterheim, which was widely known as the center of all ogre culture in Icereach. In fact, Drago had a secret fascination with all things gold and knew that Winterheim was the greatest magnet for gold in the world-at least, in all the world that was the Icereach. There he hoped to find some pretty toys that he could gather to himself and cherish.

As for the soon-to-be queen Stariz, with her mysterious rituals and undeniable influence with the Willful One, she frightened him, just as she frightened almost everyone else. In fact, there were rumors that her own father found her to be such an ominous presence that he had vigorously sought the match with the king and had agreed to a surprisingly miniscule dowry-a few silver mines and a hundred human slaves-in order to ensure that she would be shipped off to the capital.

Whereas Stariz had really found her element in Winterheim, quickly assuming mastery of the great temple there even as her husband ascended to the throne, Drago was even more out of place in the great city than he had been in the less cultured land of his birth. His first experience with a royal banquet had been nearly disastrous when he had elbowed the obese Lord Quendip out of the way in a lunge for a prime rib-all the ribs, actually-of beef. The lord’s six handlers had tried to intervene, and they had ended up with one broken arm and two dislocated shoulders. Lord Quendip had demanded exile for the offending lout, but the king-who knew a good fighting man when he saw him-declared instead that the hulking Karyl would be assigned to the garrisons of the outer palisades.

His first post had been at the South Gate, where the roads to the vast gold mines converged upon the city. Drago had been part of a hundred-ogre garrison charged with careful observation of all who entered or departed the city, as well as with the operation of the great stone gate itself. Karyl’s strength was a great asset in the gate-opening-he could turn the massive winch alone, though it had previously required the efforts of a half dozen stalwart ogres. Here too, however, his uncouth behavior led to suspicion and dislike from his barracks-mates. There never seemed to be enough food or drink for both Drago and the ninety-nine other ogres who shared his quarters.

It was at this posting, however, that Drago really began to develop the love that was to last the remainder of his life. It was not an emotion extended toward any other being, male or female, that welled up in his mighty heart. Instead, he began to truly nurture his fascination and fondness for the golden metal itself, the product of the rich mines that had always captured his fancy.

Not that he was greedy or inclined to thievery or the amassing of wealth-far from it. Drago’s worshipful affection for gold was a purely aesthetic expression. Quite simply, he liked it because it was pretty to look at. He loved to study the metal, caress golden objects in his huge hands, feel its good, solid weight against his chest. His favorite items of gold were not the solid ingots that were imported so steadily into the city. Rather they were the small ornaments, the rings, chains and medallions, even the children’s toys sculpted into the shape of seals or bears. To most ogres, these lacked the value of the solid gold bar, and Drago had no difficulty amassing quite a collection of such trinkets. When he was not working he would sit in his room in the barracks, surrounded by his toys, admiring them.

In the end, as it had been in the palace, it was an incident with a noble that rendered the assignment at the South Gate unworkable. A certain duke, Greckan Marst, was charged with administering nearly half of the royal gold mines. On one occasion, he decided to make journey of inspection and to do it incognito so that his charges would have no advance warning of his arrival. Leaving the city on foot with merely a dozen slaves to bear the provisions required by the duke on his three-day tour, Grackan Marst led his entourage through the gate that had been opened by Karyl Drago.

The last slave in Grackan Marst’s entourage captured the eye of the hulking gatekeeper, whose appetite had been enhanced by the exertions of wheeling aside six tons of solid granite. A carelessly wrapped leg of venison jutted from the hapless human’s backpack, and Drago reacted without thinking. He reached and tugged, freeing the deer meat but inadvertently breaking the slave’s neck in the process.

The duke’s mission had been thwarted by the subsequent delay though his wrath was soothed by a royal payment. Once again Drago was reassigned. This time he joined the overseers of the many hundreds of slaves at the Seagate, the massive portal allowing access to the city’s subterranean harbor. His work was good-he terrified the slaves into certain obedience, but since this was the route by which all the salmon fishers brought their goods into the city it was only a matter of time before trouble resulted there as well.

Finally the king decided upon the perfect assignment for Drago. There was a lonely gate into the Winterheim Warrens, far from the city and removed from nearly all ogre citizens of either noble or common birth. It was such a small and unimportant outpost that it required but a dozen ogres to guard it, so long as they were led by a warrior of stout courage and battle fitness. In other words, it was the perfect place for Karyl Drago.

He was assigned to the gate at the summit of Icewall Pass. He watched the narrow aperture throughout the sunlit months of the year, withdrawing into the city only during the fury of the Sturmfrost and the three months of frigid night that followed that epic, annual blizzard. Bears and seals were not uncommon around the Icewall, and Drago and his men were allowed to kill and eat as many of these as they desired. They had an ample supply of coal for cooking, and every few months a caravan of slaves would bring them a new keg of warqat from the city’s distilleries.

The ogres of his garrison were as uncouth and barbaric a lot as one could find in all the Icereach. They respected him as their master and allowed him first pick of all sustenance, be it in solid or liquid form. In return, he gave them freedom to drink, hunt and gamble unfettered by the restraints of civilized society.

He never bothered any other ogres because he never saw any other ogres, and the king gained the security of knowing that the Icewall garrison was commanded by as fit a warrior as any in his service.