The Ogre Apprentice (28 page)

“You named your squirrel Squirrel,” she pointed out.

Fist chuckled. “That’s true. I probably would have named him different if I knew what I know now.”

What? Why
? Squirrel asked from his spot on Puj’s shoulder.

Puj said nothing during the exchange, but kept a close eye on them. She did this whenever he spoke with the gnome, measuring their interactions. Fist could tell that the ogress found Maryanne intimidating, but since he hadn’t shown the gnome any more affection than he had Puj, it hadn’t become an issue.

Things were going much better than expected. Fist would have found the journey enjoyable if not for his struggles at night. He had done as Darlan instructed and stopped draining his magic. Now he had to suffer through the nightmares.

Knowing that Justan had endured vivid dreams of his own, Fist told him what Mistress Sarine had said. Justan was surprised. He hadn’t known that his dreams had anything to do with his magic. Justan grew excited by the concept and encouraged Fist to try what she had suggested; learn to control the dreams and figure out what it was they were trying to tell him.

Of course that was easier said than done. The times when Fist knew he was dreaming were brief. He tried to hold on to that awareness, but only with rare success. The dreams just seemed so real. When he did manage to hold on to his reality, it didn’t last long. As if aware what he was trying to do, the dreams would throw in a new wrinkle, something that would surprise and disorient him until he lost himself once again.

The dreams varied in some ways but they always started with him up in the clouds and ended with him either attacked by the mysterious beast in Squirrel’s pouch or with the discovery that maggots had found a way to burrow into his body. Each time this happened, Fist woke up startled and sweating. The nightmares left him disoriented and it often took a few hours before he was able to shake the feeling that worms were crawling under his skin.

Squirrel was affected as well. The intensity of the dreams bled through the bond and he would be wakened by his own version of the horrors Fist experienced. Eventually, Squirrel discovered that the dreams didn’t affect him unless Fist was asleep. So the little creature started staying awake all night. He watched over Puj and Fist, then slept in his pouch during the daytime.

Fist envied Squirrel that option. He had no choice but to continue enduring the dreams as he tried to understand them. Things became worse the further they traveled into the mountains. Fist’s dreams increased in both intensity and frequency. For three nights in a row he awoke twice in the night, anxious and shaken by the terrible events of his dreams. These occurrences left him tired and irritable and he seriously considered abandoning Darlan’s directions and drain his magic just so that he could sleep through the night. It wasn’t until the fourth such night that he had a breakthrough.

Fist was laying on cloudy softness. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face. It was wonderful, peaceful, but he found himself fighting against it. That peaceful feeling was wrong. He heard a rumbling in the distance. A cool moist breeze blew past him, thick with the smell of rain.

He forced himself to open his eyes and look at his surroundings. He was on an island of sunlit cloud. On one side of him was empty blue sky. On the other was an encroaching darkness, a billowing storm front stretching high above him. Lightning danced through the smoky black clouds. Fleeing from the storm, running at the edge of it, was Fist’s father, his heavy feet disturbing the white cloud below him as he ran.

Crag bellowed at him, “Stand, Fist! Fight!”

Fist’s first urge was to close his eyes, pretend the oncoming storm was an illusion, and bask in the sun’s rays while he could. It was what he usually did. After all, he had no reason to heed Crag’s words; no desire to think on the turmoil his father’s presence brought.

The memory of Sarine’s voice rippled across his mind, “
Don’t let the dream overtake you . . . there are some aspects of it that you can control
.”

Fist held onto her words resisting the urge to do as he had always done and ignore Crag’s plea. This was his dream. He had a vague understanding that he had endured it many times in the past. Not this time. He would take charge.

Fist stood and faced the approach of his father. He shouted, “I will fight!”

As the words left his lips Fist saw that the approaching darkness wasn’t a cloud at all. It was made up of thousands of winged beasts. The cool moist air that blew towards him was thick with the smell of rot and the flashes of light he saw weren’t lightning. They were the flickering glow of the beasts’ eyes.

The shock of this understanding threatened to suck his concentration away, but he resisted the compulsion. He needed to analyze the dream and learn from it. There was something familiar about the beasts, but it eluded him. What was it?

Suddenly, Crag was there standing on the cloud before him. The ogre chieftain was covered in wounds, his face bruised and bleeding. His voice was ragged. “Fight, Fist!”

“I will,” Fist said, “But how? I have no weapons and there are so many.”

 “Toompa!” Crag snarled and swung his muscled arm. The punch struck Fist squarely in the chest so hard that he was launched off of the cloud.

As Fist plummeted towards the ground below he looked up, determined to stay aware. This was his dream. He would retain control.

The dark mass of beasts caught up to Crag and surrounded him, obscuring the chieftain from view. The swarm dove after Fist, pouring over the edge of the cloud like filthy water out of a bucket. Then, in unison, they opened their tooth-filled mouths and the sound that came out of them was soul-piercing. It was a sound filled with anger. Filled with hatred. Filled with longing. A chittering moan.

Fist awoke, gasping. It was bitterly cold and dark. He had no idea what time it was. The night sky was overcast, blocking out the moon and stars. Only the dull glow of the coals in their fire pit gave off any illumination.

Moonrats
, said Squirrel with a shiver. The little animal was a few feet away, curled up with Puj in her furs.

Did you have the same dream
? Fist asked.

Fist felt a hand nudge his shoulder and looked up to see the face of Locksher dimly illuminated by the coals’ light. He was crouching next to Fist and both of his eyebrows were raised in interest. The wizard whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Fist whispered back.

“Shh!” Locksher replied, a finger to his lips. “Listen.”

Then the sound echoed out again, the moonrat moan. It started as a lone voice, but was soon joined by a dozen more. The sound wasn’t as large and terrifying as it had been in Fist’s dream, but it still sent a chill through him.

Locksher let out an excited laugh. “Ohhh that’s interesting.”

Fist sat up and heard the rustle of the whole camp stirring. Everybody had heard it that time.

“What is that hellish sound?” asked Maryanne, joining Locksher at Fist’s side.

“Ghosts!” said a frightened Puj from within her furs.

“No. It’s moonrats,” Fist said. “But what are they doing up here?”

“That’s a good question,” Locksher replied and his toothy grin gleamed in the coals’ glow. “How many of them do you think there are?”

Fist thought how creepy Locksher could get when he was interested in something. “I-I’m not sure.”

The wizard threw up his hands and Fist switched to magesight in time to see a golden net of air fly from Locksher’s fingertips, expanding to form a thin dome over the campsite. “Listen and watch,” the wizard said.

The moans started up again. This time Fist paid closer attention. The first moan came from the north, further up the mountain slopes. The voices that replied to it were scattered all around.

As the sounds hit the camp, parts of Locksher’s dome rippled, each vibration caused by a single moonrat voice. When the sounds faded, the wizard said. “Did you count that? How many?”

Fist had tried to count, but it was a jumble. “I don’t know. Fifteen? Twenty?”

“Seventeen,” replied Maryanne.

Locksher nodded his head. “I concur.”

“How could you tell that?” Fist asked, looking at the dome. The surface was trembling still. “The ripples were so close together.” 

“Ripples?” Maryanne said. She looked up, following Fist’s eyes. “Oh that. I wasn’t using magesight. I was listening.”

“Really? Good ears,” Locksher said in approval. At Fist’s questioning look he explained, “I knew she was right because the spell told me. That’s how I designed it.”

Qenzic and Lyramoor joined them moments later. The elf was agitated. “What the hell are moonrats doing here? Usually they stick to the Tinny Woods.”

Not anymore
, Squirrel observed, poking his head out from under Puj’s furs where the ogress was still cowering.

Fist nodded in realization. “Squirrel just reminded me. Earlier, when we were traveling through the woods, we didn’t hear moonrats once.” The most powerful of Mellinda’s children had been destroyed in the war, but many of the yellow and green eyed ones had survived. They were tamer than before but still let out their moans from time to time.

The wizard snapped his fingers, “You’re right, Fist! I was so focused on the chest that I didn’t even notice.” He reached up and gripped his hair with both hands. “Blast me, but I should have. Vannya would have noticed.”

“What are the moonrats doing here?” Lyramoor repeated.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Locksher replied. “I have a few theories, but I would like to find out more before I espouse them. Hmm, listen. I believe they’re about to start up again.”

As if on cue, the moonrat’s cries started up again. Several frightened gasps echoed from the ogre side of the camp. Fist watched the golden dome overhead shiver and tried to pick out their numbers by sound as Maryanne had done. He failed miserably.

One more
, Squirrel said.

“Eighteen this time, I think,” Marianne said. “But they are further north of us than before.”

“I hate those things,” Lyramoor growled.

“Did you notice something different about their moans?” Locksher asked, arcing his eyebrow again. “I don’t mean, different now than a few minutes ago. I mean different now than they were before Mellinda was destroyed.”

“Actually I think it is different,” Qenzic said. “They sound less mournful. More . . . angry.”

Hungry
, Squirrel said and Fist agreed with his assessment. The sound was haunting, but in a more aggressive way than before.

“I will require a specimen to study,” Locksher decided. “I need to determine if the enemy we are facing is behind this.”

Lyramoor drew one of his swords. “Does the rat have to be alive?”

“Preferably,” Locksher replied. “Though one of both would be nice.”

“I think we can manage it,” Qenzic said. “Though these things are nasty. A nonfatal attack will be harder to manage since it’s this dark out. I wish we’d thought to bring a net.”

“Oh, I have just the thing, boys,” Maryanne said with a smile. She pulled an arrow out of her quiver.

In the dim light, Fist could barely make out the impressions of air and earth runes on the arrowhead. He suddenly had a better understanding of how the archer could be useful on this mission. “Shock arrows?”

“Shock arrows,” she confirmed. “I had the wizards magic up some for me before I left the school. When I nail one of those rats with a leg shot, this’ll put ‘em down for a good minute. Long enough for you two to hop in and hogtie ‘em or whatever.”

Lyramoor snorted. “Hogtie a moonrat. Right.”

“Is that so hard for you?” Maryanne asked, causing the scarred elf to let out a growl.

“They have an extra set of limbs on their backs and a hand on the end of their tails.” Qenzic explained. “It’ll be a pain, but don’t worry. We’ll manage.”

“Just be careful,” Locksher said “The enemy’s power is similar to Mellinda’s. If it is controlling them, you might have to deal with bewitching magic.”

“I’ve got the bond,” Maryanne said.

“Spirit magic can’t touch me,” Lyramoor replied.

Qenzic gave the two of them envious looks. “I . . . I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Good,” the wizard said absently, rubbing his chin. He took his notebook out and began writing furiously.

The warriors slipped out of the camp, heading northward. Seconds later, the chorus of moans sounded out again. The fire in the pit blazed back to life as several nervous ogres began shoving dry wood into the coals. All the commotion caused one large figure to stir.

“Will someone tell those blasted moonrats to shut up!” Charz roared. The giant reached over and yanked the furs off of a snoring Rub, then wrapped them around his head and turned on his side. The sleeping ogre was left naked in the frigid night air, but he didn’t seem to notice and kept snoring away.

“Master Locksher, you said you had theories,” Fist said to the wizard. “What do you think this means?”

“Hmm . . . I think it may be possible that there is some truth to Sherl’s original assertion.” He continued to write as he spoke. “What if Mellinda wasn’t destroyed completely? What if she somehow simply changed location instead?”