Alex Lee Martinez - In the Company of Ogres

A rope ladder descended one side, and Ned started down. He was halfway to the ground when a scampering squirrel darting past startled the roc. The beast twisted, lost its balance, and tumbled over. Gabel and Ace were well out of squishing range, but Ned wasn’t so lucky. The crash of three tons of bird flesh cut short his fearful yelp. The roc took some time before wobbling to its feet.

Gabel approached the crushed commander. “Damn, what a mess.”

“He looked like that before,” said Ace, “except his neck didn’t bend that way.”

“Sir?” Gabel prodded Ned. “Sir?”

“Pretty sure he’s dead.” Ace kicked the corpse.

“But this is Never Dead Ned.”

“Guess they’ll have to change his name to Distinctly Dead Ned.” Ace booted the body a second time, hopped on its chest a few times, and waggled the broken neck. “Yep, that’s dead a’right.”

Gabel frowned.

Then he smiled. It was nice when problems solved themselves.

Copper Citadel didn’t have a proper graveyard. Its population consisted mostly of ogres, ores, and goblins, all of whom considered a corpse, at worst, something to trip over and, at best, ammunition for a stimulating game of Catapult the Cadaver, a popular orc drinking game. But a few humans were stationed at the citadel, and as it was official policy of Brute’s Legion to respect all cultures, even the absurdity of humans, there was a rudimentary cemetery set aside in a useless patch of dirt.

Two ogres, Ward and Ralph, were the official gravediggers. The position added a few coins to their wages. They could’ve done a poor job of it, and none but the dead would’ve cared. But Ward took some small pride in his work, and that rubbed off a little on Ralph. They were both typical ogre specimens: tall, wide, ruddy, hairy creatures with broad mouths and tiny, close-set eyes. Ralph was a little hairier than Ward, and Ward was a little taller. That was the biggest difference between them.

Ralph scooped out another shovel of dirt and glanced at the setting sun. “It’s getting dark. That’s deep enough.”

Ward shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t look as deep as the last commander.”

“That’s because I liked that guy.”

“You might’ve liked this guy, Ralph.”

They studied Ned’s corpse with its bulging eye and purplish tongue hanging from blue lips.

Ralph frowned. “Looks like an asshole to me.”

“They all look like that when they’re dead.”

Ralph picked Ned up by one leg and dangled the corpse. “Yeah, but what kind of idiot calls himself Never Dead Ned, then goes and dies?”

“Asshole,” they said as one.

Ralph tossed the body in the hole. It didn’t take long for the heavyset gravediggers to finish the burial. Dark clouds spread overhead. A few heavy drops of rain fell. Ward jammed a simple tombstone into place.

“That’s nice,” complimented Ralph. “When did you make it?”

“Soon as I heard the new commander was coming. Didn’t think I’d have to use it so soon.”

In the unadorned cemetery, ten graves stretched beside Ned’s. Each stone bore the name of a dead human commander of Ogre Company. There’d been other casualties of the job, but only the humans needed to be buried. The ores had been used as roc chow. An elf had been burned on a pyre. There’d been a dwarf too, but he’d been torn to so many pieces that no one wanted to bother picking them all up. So Ralph and Ward had never learned how dwarves liked their corpses handled.

“Is it me, or are we going through these guys faster than we used to?” asked Ralph.

“It’s you. Although this one’s got to be the record. Hold on a second. I’ve got to fix something here.” Ward pulled a chisel and mallet from his belt and chipped an X through the “Never” in Never Dead Ned.

“Should we say some words?” asked Ward.

“Do we have to?” asked Ralph.

“Humans seem to like that kind of thing.”

The approaching storm thundered. “Fine. But let’s make it quick.” Ralph’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. “I smell rain. And magic. Dark magic.”

Rare ogres were born with a talent for smelling magic. The gift had never been proven to any of the other races, but ogres accepted it as fact.

“What’s dark magic smell like?” asked Ward.

Ralph drew in another snort. “Strawberries and cream.” He wiped the rain from his eyes. “Get on with it.”

Ward started to say something, then stopped. He started again and stopped.

“Well?” asked Ralph.

“I didn’t know the guy.”

“I’ll do it.” Ralph sighed. “Here lies another human. I didn’t know him, but he didn’t do anything to me so I guess he was all right. He was still a human though, and most of them are jerks. Except that one guy whose name I can’t remember now.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ward, “the fat one.”

“Not that one. I’m talking about that short one.”

“They’re all short.”

“True, but this one was especially short.”

“Oh, yeah, the short one. He was a good guy,” agreed Ward. “Too bad about that guy.”

“Anyway,” continued Ralph, “I doubt this guy was as good as that guy, but maybe he was. Probably not. Probably was an asshole. But maybe not.”

A clap of thunder ended the ceremony.

“That was beautiful, Ralph.”

The two ogres loped their way toward the citadel to escape the threatening rain. The rumbling clouds swirled in the blackened sky. The wind howled, but the downpour never came, only a few drops.

The woman stood by Ned’s grave. She might’ve appeared there. Or just as possibly, she’d walked up unnoticed. She was a small, wiry figure with a bent back, dressed all in red.

Her cloak was crimson, her dress a sharp scarlet. Her long hair was sanguine, and her skin a pale cerise. A vermilion raven perched on her shoulder. She clutched a gnarled maroon staff in an equally gnarled hand. She raised it over her head and gathered the magic necessary to raise the dead.

Ned had been raised so many times that it was absurdly simple. One day, he might even rise without her help. For now, he still needed a nudge.

“Get up, lazybones.”

It wasn’t much of an incantation, but it was all that was required. The Red Woman stamped her staff on Ned’s grave. The clouds dissolved, and the air grew still. She waited.

An hour later, she still waited.

“He’s not coming up,” said the raven.

“He’s just being stubborn. He’ll get tired of sitting in the ground soon enough.”

Another hour later, he did. Ned had some experience digging himself out of graves, and it didn’t take long once he finally decided to claw his way to the surface. He wiped away the moist earth clinging to his clothes..

“Took you long enough,” remarked the raven.

Ned rubbed his sore neck. There was a crick in it now. That’d probably never go away. He always ended up with some such reminder after dying. There were so many now, one more didn’t make much difference.

The Red Woman smiled and walked away.

He called after her. “Why don’t you just let me die?” She turned her wrinkled face in his direction. Her red cheeks glowed in the faded twilight. “Because, Ned, I’ve had a vision. One day, some far-off tomorrow, the fate of this world and every creature that walks its lands, swims its waters, and soars through its skies will depend upon you and the decision you will make.”

He hadn’t expected the answer. She’d never given him one before. He felt a little better hearing it, to know there was a reason for his suffering. He puffed out his chest with a proud smile.

“I’m just screwing with you, Ned.”

Ned’s chest and ego deflated, and he slumped.