The Ogre Apprentice (25 page)

Burl noticed the same thing. He elbowed his father. “There is too many of them, Crag!”

“Don’t worry,” Fist assured them. He grabbed Charz’s arm and said in a low voice. “Why didn’t you tell us there would be so many?”

The giant shrugged. “I didn’t know. Alfred didn’t say how many were coming.”

“There are lots,” Rub said, wide-eyed. He gripped the knotted club he carried tightly.

“Charz, tell Alfred they’re scaring the ogres,” Locksher said.

“We is not scared!” Crag barked. “We can fight them. We is strong and we have Fist.”

“There will be no fighting!” Fist said.

“I just told him, Locksher,” Charz said, his rocky eyebrows raised in amusement. “Alfred says we should wait here. There’s no need for us to meet with the whole group.”

Not long after the giant finished speaking, Fist saw several figures mount horses and break off from the rest of the camp. The riders approached at a quick trot. In the dim light, Fist couldn’t make them all out right away, but he recognized Darlan’s scarlet robe.

Burl counted them. “They still has more than us. There is seven of them and they ride horse pets. We only have six.”

Seven
! Squirrel corrected.

“There are seven of us,” Fist said, correcting his half brother. “We have Squirrel.”

“Your food does not count,” Burl said.

“He’s not food!” Fist said through gritted teeth.

Crag slapped Burl upside the head so hard that the ogre stumbled to the side. “Stop crying! The Thunder People is not scared of little peoples!”

“That’s right. There is no reason to be afraid,” Fist said. “These are not our enemies and we are not outnumbered! I told you before. Some of them are part of my tribe.”

The party that rode up was led by Faldon the Fierce and Darlan. Alfred and Maryanne rode right behind them and Fist was surprised to see Mistress Sarine riding with the two gnomes. Why had she come? Bringing up the rear were Sabre Vlad’s son Qenzic and the elven swordsman Lyramoor. The two warriors were watching the ogres with wary eyes.

The ogres weren’t expecting the academy’s party to be such a disparate group. Rub squinted at Mistress Sarine and scratched his head while Crag frowned and said, “Your tribe is strange, Fist.”

Fist and Locksher approached them and Fist had to resist the urge to wrap Darlan up in a big embrace. That would really have confused the ogres. Instead, he turned to Justan’s father and stuck out his hand. “Justan’s father, I am glad to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Fist,” the large warrior replied with a smile, giving Fist a firm handshake. He lowered his voice. “We have a lot to discuss, but we need to keep this meeting short. We have somewhere to be.”

“So where are you going?” Locksher asked. The wizard gestured towards the academy camp on the horizon. “And why did you bring so many others with you?”

“Why we’re headed to Wobble, of course,” said Darlan. “Or have you forgotten about the wedding?”

Fist palmed his forehead. “Oh! Lenny’s wedding!” With everything that had gone on, he had forgotten all about it. The wedding was supposed to have taken place weeks ago, but Bettie had delayed the journey from Coal’s Keep. “I feel so bad. I was supposed to go since Justan couldn’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Darlan said. “I will explain everything. You know Lenui will understand.”

“I know he will,” said Fist. “It’s Bettie I am worried about.”

Uh oh
, said Squirrel.

Darlan laughed. “Well, you’ll be far enough away that she won’t be able to reach you. I’m sure that by the time you get back, she will have forgiven you.”

Fist grimaced. “I hope so.”

“Please give them my regards as well,” Locksher added.

“Of course,” she said.

Crag cleared his throat loudly. The ogre was standing at his full height with his arms folded. His back was arched and his chest puffed out. In ogre culture, this was the proper posture used when negotiating peacefully. By keeping their arms folded, they showed that not only were they not about to attack, they weren’t afraid of being attacked either.

Faldon lifted an eyebrow and Fist said in an official tone, “Uh, Faldon the Fierce, this is Crag, chieftain of the Thunder People tribe.”

“I am chief,” Crag confirmed. “The Thunder People is the biggest ogre tribe. We have many warriors and many womens!”

Fist blinked, knowing the ogre procedure with this kind of thing but unsure how it applied to the humans. “Crag, this is Faldon the Fierce, chief of the Dremaldrian Battle Academy . . . tribe.”

Faldon, no stranger to dealing with different cultures, folded his arms and mimicked Crag’s posture. He whispered, “What do I say, Fist?”

“Do like Crag did,” Fist replied.

Faldon nodded. “I am chief. We are a training school and have thousands of warriors, both men and women. We, uh, protect the people of this country.”

Fist gave his father an uneasy glance, not sure how the grizzled ogre would take the warrior’s nonstandard reply. He wasn’t even sure if Crag could comprehend the concept of thousands of warriors. To his relief, Crag merely nodded.

“Good, so let’s start the meeting,” Faldon said, his posture relaxing slightly. “First of all, I should tell you what we have heard from our patrols in the mountains.”

“Have they seen the evil that the ogres have told us about?” Locksher asked.

“Not exactly. Our patrols haven’t gone as far as the ogre territories,” Faldon replied. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

The academy’s information network had been dismantled during the war and it had still not recovered. Much of their information came from the villagers and academy retirees that lived in the frontier and the majority of the refugees from the high mountain villages had not yet returned to their homes, preferring to wait until spring and avoid trying to rebuild during winter. Those that had returned hadn’t been heard from.

This winter had been a particularly harsh one for the outskirts of the human territory. The mountain passes most commonly used for travel were blocked by snow. There had only been one piece of information Faldon had been able to find that substantiated the ogre’s claims and that was a report from a small village near Jack’s Rest.

“Qenzic the Heir and Lyramoor Elfswords led that particular patrol,” Faldon said. “That’s one of the reasons I decided to send them with you.”

“The heir?” Fist asked, looking at Qenzic. The man was of average height for a human and had shoulder-length brown hair. Fist could see the short-sleeved chainmail shirt most common to the Swordwielder’s Guild peeking out from the collar his long deerskin jacket.

Qenzic gave a glum shrug and gestured to the curved hilt of the sabre that protruded from the sheath on his belt. “I carry my father’s sword now. The men started calling me that after the war.”

“A worthy name,” Fist said. Sabre Vlad had been a legend and his sword, The Commander, was even more famous as it had also been wielded by his great grandfather during the War of the Dark Prophet.

Fist didn’t bother asking Lyramoor about his new name. That one was obvious. The fantastic dual-swordsman had risen through the ranks of the academy while passing himself off as a half-elf for years until his true identity had been discovered on the night of Sabre Vlad’s death. Lyramoor was actually a full-blooded elf that had been stolen from his people as a child. He had been kept as a blood slave, passed around by dwarf smugglers for decades until Vlad had saved him from that life during an academy raid.

The heavily-scarred elf had been fiercely loyal to the man ever since, joining the academy just to remain near him. Now that Sabre Vlad was gone, Lyramoor had passed that loyalty to Vlad’s son. The elf hovered at Qenzic’s side like a zealous bodyguard, something that had to be a burden to the young warrior.

“Go ahead, Qenzic,” said Faldon. “Tell them what you heard.”

The graduate nodded. “It was about a month and a half ago. We were far to the northwest attempting to escort a group of refugees back to the Village of Pike. We tried to get through Rohran’s gap, but a blockade of snow and ice blocked our path.”

“That place is too tight,” Crag said and Fist was surprised that his father knew what the man was talking about.

Qenzic was unsure how to reply to the ogre. “I know what you mean, uh, Chief Crag. Rohran’s gap is a bit of a squeeze in places, but it is often passable during the winter when other routes are not. At any rate, it wasn’t open this time. We were about to turn around, when we heard someone shouting from high up on the blockade. So Lyramoor-.”

“They don’t need to hear the whole story,” Lyramoor interrupted.

“But it’s a good one.” Qenzic said, ignoring the elf’s scowl. “So Lyramoor climbs the blockade. It must have been a good forty feet tall. The rest of us had to back away because chunks of ice were falling everywhere. I was sure he was going to fall but somehow he reaches the top and finds this dwarf half frozen, stuck up to the waist in ice.”

“It was mostly snow,” Lyramoor corrected. His voice was low and rough. Not the usual voice of an elf.

“You had to chisel him out,” Qenzic replied and the elf rolled his eyes.

“And he was still alive?” Fist asked.

“He was a dwarf.” Charz said with a snort. “Anyone you two knew?”

“No. Probably a hermit,” Lyramoor said. “There’s lots of people living solitary lives in the mountains. Some of ‘em aren’t heard from for years at a time.

“He was barely coherent. We couldn’t get a name out of him,” Qenzic added. “Anyway, Lyramoor got him out of the ice and lowered him down to the rest of us. We were able to get a fire started and warm him up. Then the dwarf starts raving, going on and on about blood on his hands.”

“What he kept saying over and over was ‘they wouldn’t die’,” Lyramoor said.

“Right,” said Qenzic. “He got louder and louder and suddenly he rushes one of the villagers. He’s scratching at her. Biting at her. Lyramoor and I had to pull him off of her.”

Fist swallowed. This was starting to sound familiar. He looked to Locksher and saw the wizard’s eyebrow rise with interest.

Locksher took out his notebook. “Describe this dwarf to me. Was he wounded when you found him?”

“He was bruised and scratched. His clothes were torn,” Qenzic said. “He smelled like he hadn’t bathed since . . . ever.”

“His forearm was bandaged up,” Lyramoor added. “It looked like a nasty wound. He could barely move that hand.”

Locksher nodded, jotting down notes. “And what were his symptoms when he attacked you? Did he have a fever?”

“His skin was hot,” Qenzic said. “I remember that from when we pulled him off the lady. He was just screaming like he was in pain.”

“Do you think he had maggots in him?” Fist asked.

“It’s likely,” Locksher replied. “What happened next?”

“We had to kill him,” Lyramoor said, his voice grim.

“But he wouldn’t go down,” Qenzic said. “Lyramoor stabbed him through the heart and he fell, but then he got back up and kept attacking. He was quiet after that, though. His mouth was open like he was trying to yell, but no sound came out.”

Rub spat. “The evil had him.”

“That is what happens,” Crag confirmed. “They only get quiet when they die. But they keep fighting. You have to mash all their bones and throw them in the fire.”

The two warriors stared at the ogre and Qenzic said. “Uh, he’s right. We didn’t ‘mash his bones’, but we had to dismember him and even after that, he didn’t stop moving until we burned him.”

Fist shivered at the thought of it, but Crag simply nodded as if they had made a wise decision.

“This confirms what I have discovered about this threat,” Locksher said. He told them what he had learned from studying the contents of the chest. There was a moment of silence as everyone digested the information.

Finally Darlan spoke. “So we know how this ‘evil’ spreads, we know how to destroy the larvae, and we know how to fight those that are taken over. What we still don’t understand is the nature of the enemy behind the larvae. We need to find out what it is and soon. I fear that the winter is the only thing holding it back.”

“I agree,” Locksher said. “Once summer comes, it will spread quickly.”

“I guess we’ll find out who our enemy is when we get there,” Charz said. The giant cracked his thick knuckles in a series of loud pops. “Whoever they are, I plan on punching ‘em in the face.”

“It is a big evil,” Crag said as if that explained everything. He grunted with confidence. “Fist will kill it with his lightnings.”

 “Well, whatever we’re up against, you’ll need to keep us informed,” Faldon said. “If we need to put together a large strike force for an attack this spring, we’ll have to know as soon as possible.”

“That shall not be a problem,” Alfred said. The gnome’s voice had a lightness to it. He was pleased about something. “I will be staying at the academy build site where I can make regular reports to the council. Charz will keep me updated on their progress and  I’ll pass everything I know on to Beehn.”

“And I’ll tell Sarine what happens,” Maryanne said. She had been quiet up to that point. The female gnome was sitting on the ground cross-legged. She had unclipped her quiver from her belt and emptied it onto the ground. She was looking over each arrow one-by-one, examining them for straightness and balance.