Douglas Niles - Winterheim

“This is the work barracks up ahead,” Tookie explained in a hushed voice. “It’s where the slaves live who work in here.”

“Are there guards nearby?” Kerrick asked.

From here they could see a wide-mouthed side cavern, deep and shadowy. It was fenced off by a stockade of timber, but the gate was open, and there didn’t seem to be any ogres in this immediate area.

“Well, they have their own barracks over there,” the girl replied, pointing to a ledge higher up on the cavern wall, “but they’re always coming and going. You see, past there is the ramp up to the city.”

Kerrick and the others could observe that wide, smooth route, as broad as a grand street, curving along the cavern wall. The ramp inclined upward at a gentle grade before turning away from the Moongarden to vanish into a wide tunnel. The orange glow of oil lamplight glowed from within that passage, a harsh contrast to the soft green illumination of the great, verdant cavern.

Tookie led them closer, halting within the cover of the last of the giant mushrooms. “Why don’t you wait here and try to stay out of sight, most of you,” she said. “I’ll sneak in and get some slaves robes so you don’t look so out of place. We can get baskets for your stuff.”

“Can you carry all that?” wondered the elf.

“I might need a little help,” she admitted, turning to look up at Barq One-Tooth, who was gaping around. “Can you come along and help me?”

The big Highlander looked nonplussed at the question, but something in the girl’s expression seemed to move him. He cleared his throat gruffly then nodded.

“Sure, girlie,” he replied. “Just tell me what to do.”

Stariz inspected the ragged lot of prisoners with contempt. There were two dozen of them, all male, universally sullen and surly. The guards had chained them in pairs, and despite their bluster and bravado she could see their eyes were wide with fear. She could smell the stench of terror in their sweat. They were doomed, and they knew it. She was pleased, anticipating great suffering before these men finally met the release of death.

One man caught her eye, and she pointed to him. The guards unclasped him from his fellow prisoners and pushed him forward. The slave was tall and blond-bearded. The queen recognized him by his icy blue eyes and sandy hair. It was as her spy had told her, barely two hours before. This prize would be among the group of captives, if she acted quickly in sending the grenadiers. Still, she could not quite believe her good fortune.

“You are the Highlander, Strongwind Whalebone, who was captured on Dracoheim, are you not? You have a knack for causing trouble.”

The man shrugged his shoulders, a contemptuous gesture that provoked one of the guards to shove him hard from behind. Stumbling to his knees, the slave glared up at the queen with an expression of pure hatred.

She snorted in amusement and spoke loudly so that all the slaves as well as the company of grenadiers could hear. “There is no need for you to respond. I recognize you, Highlander King. At the time of your entry into Winterheim I pronounced you a dangerous soul, and now the proof is in your company. Still you were sent into service as a house slave-to the apartments of Lady Dimmarkull, as I understand.”

Looking around the great throne hall, the ogre queen saw that her words had been heard by all in attendance. That was good, another piece in her clever plan falling into place. She sneered down at the prisoner, flicking him away with an outward gesture of her fingers.

“Take him out of my sight. Take all of them away! Lock them in the royal dungeons on the harbor level, and do not bother to feed them. It is only necessary that they live a little longer, until the ceremony of Autumnblight three days hence.”

The grenadiers trooped the hapless rebels away, while Stariz glared coldly after them. As soon as the door to the throne room slammed shut, she hurried toward her own, private exit.

She expected that it would not be long before she heard from her husband, and she expected the king to be in a very bad mood. She had an explanation ready, and she felt confident that she would be able to get him to believe her.

The Port Grotto was a big cavern and well hidden from the main chamber of the Moongarden. Quickly the fighters of the war party found places to stretch out and rest, though several men remained on sentry duty, hidden along the edge of the alcove. Slyce volunteered for this important job, but Mouse ordered the gully dwarf to remain in the back of the group and assigned two alert warriors to keep an eye on the little fellow.

Mouse realized that he hadn’t seen Dinekki in a while and went to look for her. He found the shaman kneeling beside a pool of still water in a narrow niche of the cavern wall where the light of the phosphorescent fungus was muted. The liquid was still, reflective as a mirror, but he had the sense that she was peering at something far beyond the surface of the water.

“Are you all right, Grandmother?’ he asked. “I didn’t want to interrupt-”

“Help me up!” she snapped crossly, extending a frail-looking hand.

He did as she asked, unsurprised by the wiry strength in those thin fingers. He could not help noticing that she wobbled unsteadily as she rose then held his hand for an extra moment, as though fighting against a wave of dizziness.

“What is it?” he asked worriedly. “Did you see something amiss?”

The old woman sighed, for once displaying every one of her eight or nine decades of life. Her shoulders slumped, and she seemed to exert great effort just to raise her head to look at him.

“Trouble,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “Trouble on all sides of us.”

Karyl Drago paused at the entry to the Moongarden, taking in the view from a high ledge above the cavern floor. There was no place like this in all the world, he was certain. It gave him a special feeling of pride to know that he was entrusted to guard this place from the outside world. Of course, he had failed this duty, he recalled with more than a twinge of shame, and he ceased his gawking to once more take up the trail of those who had thwarted him, killed his garrison, and left him for dead.

He descended the steep trail to the cavern floor, looking for signs of the intruders. He was not terribly worried when he didn’t immediately find any tracks. The ground was mostly hard stone, and besides, there was no other way that they could have come.

Now that he had reached the Moongarden, he knew that he would have to be diligent. This place was huge, with many concealed groves and grottos as well as side caverns in a half dozen places that were huge caves in their own right, each a place where a party of dangerous intruders might hide out, watch, and wait. They could be anywhere, and it wouldn’t do for him to wander past and leave them undiscovered.

He paused long enough to take a drink of cold, fresh water. He was still sore from his drop into the crevasse and noticed that several large scabs had developed on his belly. These were starting to itch, and he remembered that there was a soothing pool of warm water very nearby. That would be just the place to wash the wounds.

Soon he was wallowing in comfort, rubbing away the grime and grit from his wounds. He was filled with thoughts of the fiery, golden axe. With a sigh of contentment, he leaned back and let the waters caress his battered flesh. It wasn’t until he emerged and shook himself dry, that he noticed something odd about the water running past his little pool. It was discolored, tainted as if by mud or some kind of rust-colored dye. Curious, Karyl Drago followed the stream to the place where it spilled over the embankment. Here he saw that the dye was coming from beneath a pile of rocks. Several bare patches of dirt nearby seemed to suggest that these rocks had recently been moved.