Douglas Niles: Winterheim

“No,” said the monstrous ogre. “You are wrong. This is not the will of Gonnas.” Karyl Drago held the Axe of Gonnas in one meaty hand, high out of the queen’s-or anyone else’s-reach.

“Do you know whom you address?” demanded Stariz ber Glacierheim ber Bane. “I am the will of Gonnas, the mouth, the tongue, and the word of our god!”

She stalked away from the hulking Drago and the king, then she spun to confront them both below the obsidian statue of Gonnas that loomed high in the center of the room.

“I am the voice of Gonnas!” she shouted triumphantly. “I am his will, manifest upon the world of Krynn!”

As she shouted the words she knew that it was true, for she felt the power of her god infuse her. She was the Willful One, and she threw back her head and laughed aloud. No one could stand in her path.

“You are a puny fool!” she screamed at her husband.

Extending her hands, she barked a sound of rage and violence. Magic exploded from her fingertips, a blast of fiery power that rushed outward, swatting him aside with one powerful blow. The other ogres in the temple gasped and cried out as the king tumbled across the floor, rolling over and over, finally smashing, hard, against the base of the wall. He gaped up at her in shock and horror, drooling.

“You are an insolent toad!” she spat at Karyl Drago, who was backing away, clutching the Axe of Gonnas. “You are not worthy to touch that sacred relic!”

She extended her hands another time, ready to blast that massive ogre and snatch the talisman from his grasp. Stariz noticed a bat soar down before her-but what could a bat do?

Dinekki’s goddess was in her, and she was content. For more than eight decades she had cherished a life upon the Icereach, cold and cruel though that life had often been.

Now she had reached the end of those years, but strangely she was not the least bit sad. Instead, she came to rest on the floor, her claws clicking on the smooth stone. In another instant the spell faded away and she stood, frail in appearance but powerful in spirit, before the enraged, astonished ogre queen.

The old shaman said nothing, merely looked upward with a sly smile creasing her wrinkled face. Stariz shrieked and shrieked, consumed with rage at this mad interruption, and drove a crushing fist downward, smashing the old woman’s brittle bones, driving the mortal life from her flesh …

Bringing the power of two gods into collision.

The guards at the temple gate were surprised by the sudden determined appearance of the charging rebels, too surprised to pull shut the heavy iron door. They fell, stabbed and bleeding, as Kerrick led Moreen, Barq One-Tooth, Tildy, and at least a hundred freed slaves into the great hall.

Here they stopped, frozen by the sight of a fiery apparition-a giant ogress, in the image of Stariz ber Glacierheim ber Bane, reeling backward, shrieking in unholy pain. Her hand was blackened and blistered, and flames flickered up and down her limbs like hungry scavengers.

Nearby, the body of Strongwind Whalebone lay on the floor, cloven almost in half by a monstrous blow. The elf saw another ragged, broken shape on the floor, and he recognized poor Dinekki-or what was left of her. The frail old shaman’s body was torn and broken, as though rent by terrible violence. Smoke rose from her tattered flesh and from the floor around her. An explosion had shattered one leg of the looming black statue that rose above everything else in the room. That obsidian icon teetered now on its remaining leg, and the rubble strewn beside the smashed limb was smoking in the same manner as Dinekki’s flesh.

Incensed beyond reason, Kerrick charged the queen, trying to slash with his sword. She didn’t appear to notice him but instead staggered away, still screaming, swatting at the flames that burned along her body. Her right hand was a charred stump, blackened and still smoking. He thrust, missing her, and sprang forward to resume his desperate pursuit.

“Don’t do that!” cried an excited voice.

“What?” Kerrick asked, stunned by the sudden appearance of his small companion at his side. The elf stopped and stared at the kender.

“That’s better,” said Coraltop Netfisher. “Just watch. This is getting better and better every second!”

“Bruni!” Moreen cried.

The big woman, still chained, was rolling away from the gaping ogres who had held her. The acolytes fled to the far corner of the temple, while the guards drew their weapons and ran to protect their king.

Together with Barq One-Tooth, the chiefwoman raced across the throne room toward her old friend, who was struggling to stand, her hands chained before her. An ogre guard lunged to intercept them, but when Barq raised his axe the warrior retreated warily.

“Cut these!” cried Bruni, kneeling on the stone floor. She placed her manacled hands on that hard surface, and Barq brought his axe down with one crushing blow, slicing through the iron links.

Magic blasted and a shower of sparks swirled through the air, as Stariz howled in fury and managed to cast another explosive spell at the Highlander thane. Barq One-Tooth flew across the room and smashed into the wall, slumping next to the ogre king, his axe spinning free onto the floor.

“My turn,” muttered Bruni, seizing the weapon, and turned to face the looming, burning queen.

The big woman hurled the weapon with both hands. Barq’s axe flipped over and over through the air and thunked loudly into the black mask over the queen’s face. That obsidian shell broke away, and Stariz ber Bane stood glaring at them, unhurt, her eyes blazing with maniacal fire.

“Blasphemy!” cried the high priestess and queen. She turned toward the tilting statue, raising her arms in a gesture of pleading. “Hear me, O Master! Smite those who thwart your will, who endanger the place of your people in the world! Show us your favor, and destroy those who are your enemies!”

She spun back to face the ogres, humans, and elf, casting back her head with a shriek of crazed sound, half prayer and half laughter. The statue tilted wildly, but Stariz wasn’t looking. Her face was distorted by glee and fury, joy and rage all mingled in an expression of insane frenzy.

“This is the will of Gonnas the Strong!” she howled, raising her hands for one last spell.

The statue of the Willful One toppled forward on its one leg. Slowly, like a tall tree breaking free of its ancient roots, it plummeted, smashing down upon the ogress queen with a weight of thirty tons. The brittle obsidian shattered. Black stone chunks tumbled across the floor. Bits flew everywhere, the roar filling their ears.

Of Stariz ber Bane there was no sign except for a smear of dark blood that slowly oozed between the shattered rock, spreading in an oily slick across the floor.

“The queen is dead!” gasped an ogre warrior, one who wore a gold-braided helm that seemed to mark him as an officer.

Others of the guards were tending the king, helping him to stand unsteadily. Two of them offered shoulders for the ogre monarch’s support.

For a long time no one spoke. Everyone was too astonished, too exhausted.

“With her passing, let the killing cease,” finally declared Grimwar Bane, stumbling for a moment, then shaking off the support of his warriors. He took three steps forward and held up his hands in a sign of truce.

Kerrick’s sword was ready, the ogre monarch just a long lunge away from him, but something caused him to hold the blow. Instead, he remained on guard, watching and waiting.

Bruni came slowly forward, wrapping one arm around Kerrick, the other around Moreen Bayguard. Other slaves closed in, swords and spears leveled at the king, as a rank of red-coated ogre guards came forward to flank their monarch,