Douglas Niles: Winterheim

“What did you say?” asked Moreen, her eyes narrowed.

“I said, let the killing cease,” declared Grimwar Bane. He looked at Bruni and nodded quietly. “You were right,” he said, “about many things.”

“Bruni, what did you say to him?” asked the chiefwoman, in a tone of wonder.

“Well, for one thing, that I was more worried about the queen’s rage than the king’s,” the big woman said with a wry snort. She looked at Grimwar Bane, then stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I think you’re talking about how we waste too much of our energy in trying to kill each other. How slaves, in bondage, will inevitably strive for freedom.”

“Yes, yes … Bruni,” replied the king. “You saw the truth, and you dared to tell me, even when I had your life in my power.”

“What about the slaves and all the dead?” demanded Moreen. She gestured toward Strongwind Whalebone’s corpse, which was being reverently covered by Barq One-Tooth. “He could have been the greatest leader his people have ever known, and your queen killed him for her own pleasure. Many of your people and ours have died on this day, and your guards are hunting and killing humans in your city even as we speak.”

“Send word to Captain Verra!” commanded the king, shaking his head, wiping blood and dust from his face with a beefy hand. “Tell him that I order a truce effective at once. All attacks are to cease immediately!”

“Aye, Sire! It shall be done!” declared the golden-helmed guard. He departed at a run.

“Those slaves are pretty mad,” said Coraltop Netfisher, striding right up to the ogre king. “I must say, of course, they have cause to be. You haven’t treated them very well, have you now?”

“Who are you?” gruffly demanded Grimwar Bane.

“Oh, me?” The kender all but blushed, then looked sheepishly at Kerrick. “I guess I can tell you now. You see, I’m sort of a … well, a god, I guess you could say. Some people would say that, anyway. Lots of folks call me Zivilyn Greentree. I’m not really a great god or a big god or anything, but elf sailors have worshiped me for centuries, all over Ansalon, except I wanted to get out and see more of the world. Kerrick here was kind enough to take me along with him.”

“A god? Zivilyn, the Green Star?” declared Kerrick, not sure if believed it … not sure if he wanted to laugh, bow down in awe, or cry. “All this time … you were, what? Riding with me? Watching me?”

“Well, I had some other things to do. You might have noticed that I wasn’t around all the time! Like Chislev Wilder-who is called Kradok by the Highlanders incidentally; did you all know it was the same god? I didn’t think so-I was pretty tired of watching you people and you ogres bash each other all the time. Did you know, even Gonnas the Strong was getting sick of it.” The kender looked up at the looming form of Karyl Drago. “Isn’t that right?”

“That is right,” replied the huge ogre, looking up from his beatific scrutiny of the golden blade. “The will of Gonnas is not for more blood.”

“The slaves,” pressed Moreen, “you’ll free them and give them back their lands?”

“Aye. You and they are entitled to everything I can do for them,” the king said softly. He took Bruni’s outstretched hand. “As you told me, as long as I tried to hold those humans in chains, revolt was inevitable. Many would die. I am tired of fighting and of seeing people die.”

“There is room enough here and in all the Icereach for both our peoples,” Bruni suggested.

“As of this moment, all of my slaves are free. They may stay here and live as citizens of Winterheim if they wish. I hope that many of them will do so, for I do not know what my city would be like without humans here. Those who wish to may return to their steadings-homes that shall remain free of the threat of ogre raids from this day forward.”

“Can we trust you?” asked Moreen warily.

Bruni, still holding the king’s massive hand, turned to her oldest friend and replied for him. “Yes, I am certain that we can.”

“I think so too,” said Coraltop, standing on tiptoes to scrutinize the ogre king’s face. “His eyes mean what he says. Not like that queen, may she not rest in peace. She was a nasty one, bad temper, had spies all over.”

The kender looked at the throng of slaves who were gathering in astonishment. He wandered back and forth with casual glee, studying the humans who had entered the temple in the wake of Kerrick and Moreen. One of them, the gray-haired woman from Thraid Dimmarkull’s apartment, dropped her knife noisily and started sidling toward the door.

“Oh, do you know that lady over there, the one called Brinda … well, she told the ogres everything that was going on. She even told the queen that Strongwind Whalebone would be going to the market when he did, so that her guards could catch him there.” Coraltop looked at Kerrick. “She was supposed to kill you! Wouldn’t that have been something-to come all this way, only to get stabbed in the back by a human traitor?”

Brinda screamed and turned toward the door, pushing several slaves out of the way in her desperation to escape.

She didn’t get very far.

The Seagate was opened by the combined efforts of ogre and human volunteers, pulling together on the massive capstans, sliding the huge stone barriers to the side. The midnight sun was gone for the rest of the year, and true night had settled across Black Ice Bay. Stars twinkled in the expanse of sky, the tiny sparks reflecting like distant campfires in the smooth waters.

These faint sparkles were swiftly overwhelmed by the surge of yellow flames rising from the great funeral barge. Strongwind Whalebone lay in state at the center of the pyre, while Dinekki rested at his side. The raft slowly drifted out of Winterheim’s harbor, into the open waters of the bay, and for a long time those tongues of flame blazed toward the heavens, rising upward in a great column of sparks, flickering spots of light that seemed determined to join the distant specks twinkling in the sky.

Moreen stood on the wharf and watched. She found it easy to believe that the spirits of the two heroes were being borne skyward, toward a place of reward, rest, and peace. Bruni had told her that Strongwind’s final wish was that the sacrifice of these lives be more than just about him … and it was. Strongwind Whalebone had been the greatest king that the humans of the Icereach had ever known, for he had been the one who had freed them from their ancestral scourge.

“Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered. “I will miss you.”

She passed Mouse and Slyce, who were sharing a companionable mug-several mugs, actually-of warqat. Nearby, Barq One-Tooth and the slave girl Tookie were sharing a leg of lamb, the meat freshly roasted in the royal kitchen.

Moreen wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Slowly she made her way up the gangplank and onto the big galley.

The chiefwoman found Kerrick on the deck at the stern of the ship, leaning on the railing, watching the embers of the pyre rise into the cool night. She leaned there beside him for a few moments of companionable silence, feeling very tired.

She tilted her head back and saw Grimwar Bane and Bruni up at the edge of the Royal Level, looking down over the vast city. Across the marketplace square, ogres and humans together were picking through the rubble, tending the wounded, gathering the dead for burial.

“This ship the ogres call Goldwing ,” said the chiefwoman. “She was your father’s galley, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” the elf agreed. “She was called Silvanos Oak , back then.”

“The king would give her to you, I think. You could sail back to Silvanesti in triumph.”