Douglas Niles - Winterheim

“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.

“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.